


Life As We Know It

by MsThunderFrost



Series: Life As We Know It [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Murder, Bad Parenting, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Homophobia, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Pregnancy, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Slut Shaming, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Victim Blaming, Violence, Weaponizing Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22927540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Visenna was never a candidate for Mother of the Year. She'd done a lot to Geralt over the years, but this?Thiswas a new low.In which Visenna leaves her eighteen-year-old son with fifty dollars and a Post-It note to his name, before disappearing from his life forever, and Geralt attempts to find his way through his last three months of high school with no home, no family, and no prospects for the future....At least he has Jaskier. And his boyfriend's family seems more than willing to provide him shelter, at least for the time being. Which would be fabulous, except for the fact that Jaskier has neglected to mention he has yet to come out to his parents.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Life As We Know It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716109
Comments: 144
Kudos: 472





	1. #GeraltDeservedBetter

From: Ger-Bear :heart_eyes: :yellow_heart:   
Are you still awake?   
Seen on Monday, 12:46AM

From: Baby Banshee :blue_heart:   
Err… I wasn’t. But I can be.   
Seen on Monday, 12:58AM

From: Baby Banshee :blue_heart:   
What’s up?   
Seen on Monday, 12:58AM

From: Ger-Bear :heart_eyes: :yellow_heart:   
Can I come over?   
Seen on Monday, 1:03AM

From: Baby Banshee :blue_heart:   
Mi casa es su casa, darling. Let me just throw on some clothes in case my dad is still up.   
Seen on Monday, 1:05AM

From: Ger-Bear :heart_eyes: :yellow_heart:   
Don’t bother. Check your window.   
Seen on Monday, 1:08AM

“Check my…” Jaskier is halfway into a pair of blue and white checkered pajama bottoms, which he is fairly certain actually belong to Geralt (his boyfriend is fucking  _ thicc _ , and anytime he tries to wear his clothes he feels like an overgrown toddler), when his window starts to rattle. His heart stutters in his chest, “Jesus  _ fuck _ …”

He slides the pants the rest of the way on, pulling the drawstring as tight as he physically can before tying them off. The window continues to rattle as he crosses the room in four quick strides, yanking his curtain back to reveal… Geralt, seated on his windowsill in the middle of a goddamned  _ thunderstorm _ , looking ridiculously beautiful as droplets of water race down his delightfully chiseled body and soak into the white, cotton t-shirt he’d apparently worn to bed. The idiot hadn’t even thought to grab a rain jacket before leaving.  _ Wonderful _ .

He wants to chastise him for it (who knows how long it had taken Geralt to work up the courage to ask to be let inside, how long he’d sat in the rain like a kicked little puppy waiting for someone to take pity on him and take him home…), but as soon as he hears the window unlatch, Geralt turns to him, giving him a lazy little half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and all thoughts of chastisement fly from Jaskier’s mind. Jaskier takes hold of the larger teen’s wrist and drags him inside; although Geralt shows no resistance, it’s still a bit of a struggle fitting his ridiculously huge body through Jaskier’s window. But Jaskier is not one to back down from a challenge…

A few moments later, Geralt is inside, attempting to keep the water-damage to a minimum as Jaskier closes and locks his window and draws the curtain. He shivers, the drastic temperature difference between the outside world and Jaskier’s bedroom finally catching up to him, and Jaskier wastes no time in helping him to undress. He tosses his clothes in the general vicinity of the hamper, reasoning that they can be dealt with tomorrow. He pats him dry with a towel that’s still semi-damp from his earlier shower, and manages to find a spare set of pajamas that Geralt had left behind on one of the many occasions he’d spent the night for him to change into.

“...Is it your mother again?” Jaskier asks, his voice soft, low. Geralt is silent for a long moment, steadfastly avoiding Jaskier’s gaze… and that is an answer in and of itself. “I swear to Christ, if she so much as laid a  _ finger _ on you --,”

“She’s gone.” He says, so quiet that Jaskier almost doesn’t hear him. Jaskier blinks, his sleep-logged brain attempting to comprehend exactly what it is that his boyfriend is trying to say. What exactly did he mean by ‘ _ gone _ ’? Had she  _ left _ ? Was she  _ dead _ ? 

“Gone,” he says, again. Geralt makes a distressed little noise and nods. After a moment of tense silence, he pulls a piece of paper, damp at the corners, out of the back of his cellphone case and hands it to Jaskier. 

“S-She left me  _ that, _ a-and a little less than fifty dollars… and now s-she’s gone.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist and squeezes,  _ hard _ . His body is still so  _ cold _ . “What the hell are you supposed to do with fifty dollars? Buy food for half of the week? Pay a fraction of a bill?”

After a long moment, Geralt finally,  _ finally _ returns his embrace. “I don’t… I don’t know. T-The electric company turned off our--the--power last night a-and it just got so c-cold. I’m… I’m sorry I woke you up --,” Jaskier shakes his head, mumbling a soft ‘don’t be’. “B-But it was so cold it physically  _ hurt _ and I was…” 

He doesn’t need to finish that sentence for Jaskier to know what it is that he’s trying to say. “C’mon, let’s get you into the bed.” Jaskier draws back just far enough to grab one of Geralt’s ice-cold hands, smoothing his thumb over his red, swollen knuckles. “And just so you know, you can always wake me up. I’d rather have a sleepless night then…”

He doesn’t want to finish that train of thought, to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t heard the text notification… He leads Geralt to his bed, moving his laptop and literature textbook to the floor so that Geralt will actually have a place to lay down. The blond looks absolutely miserable as he hunkers down beneath the blankets, his amber eyes following Jaskier as he walks around to the other side to slide in alongside him. Jaskier is barely settled before Geralt is snuggling up to his chest, hiding his face in the younger teen’s bare skin, and he feels his heart breaking as his skin begins to grow damp.

“Shh…” he drags his fingers through Geralt’s shoulder-length white blond hair, “It’s going to be alright. You’re here now, warm and  _ safe _ …” Geralt clutches him tighter, breath stuttering around a sob. “I won’t let anyone, or anything, hurt you, m’kay? Just keep those pretty little eyes on me.”

“J-Jas… it  _ hurts _ .” Geralt’s body is tense as he drags in shallow rasps of air. Jaskier smooths his fingers over the small of Geralt’s back and the curve of his ass, trying to coach him to follow his breathing. 

“I know. I know it does.” Jaskier breathes, “But you’re here now, with me. And you’re okay. You’re going to be okay, Ger. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but…” He places his hand over Geralt’s where it clutches his hip, dragging his thumb over his knuckles. “I’m sorry, baby. You deserve so much better.”

“W-Why? Why would she just…” blue eyes widen as he takes in the sudden nasal quality of Geralt’s voice.  _ Shit _ .

“Hey.  _ Hey _ . Look at me.” Geralt isn’t listening. He starts wheezing, his eyes wide and unfocused. Jaskier slings a leg over his waist and rolls them over so he’s sitting on the older teen’s stomach. “Geralt.  _ Geralt _ . You’re having a panic attack, baby. I need you to  _ breathe _ .”

Geralt is looking  _ through _ him, focusing on something that’s not quite there. “H-Hurts…  _ fuck _ , my chest  _ hurts _ .”

“Shh… Shh, I know. But you have to breathe. I promise it’ll hurt less if you breathe with me, okay?” He takes Geralt’s hand, lets him squeeze his as tight as he needs. “I know that it hurts. But it’s just you and me right now, okay? Just you and me, and all you have to worry about right here, in this space, is being my little spoon. Okay?”

A few more tears escape Geralt’s swollen eyes, “I-I don’t… don’t deserve y-you…”

Jaskier frowns, “You  _ deserve _ happiness, Geralt. You  _ deserve _ to be with someone who cares about you. You  _ deserve _ to be loved, and appreciated, and told that you  _ matter _ . Because you  _ do _ .”

“I-I don’t want to be alone…” he sobs, “I don’t…  _ I don’t want t-to go back _ .” Not to that cold, dark hellhole that his mother had left him in. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever hated someone as much as he did Geralt’s mother in that moment -- she’d done a lot of shit to Geralt over the years, but this…

“You won’t have to.” He assures. “My dad’s a lawyer,” ...a criminal defense attorney, but that was neither here nor there, “I’ll talk to him, make sure that you don’t have to see her or that hellhole ever again, okay?”

It takes a few minutes, but Geralt’s death grip on his hand slowly begins to loosen. Jaskier brings his wrist to his lips, peppering the tender skin with feather-light kisses. His skin is finally,  _ finally _ starting to warm up, thank god, and a bit of clarity has returned to his eyes as his frantically pounding heart begins to calm. And while that’s good,  _ fantastic _ even, Jaskier still leads him through a quick senses check, just to make sure. By the end, Geralt looks so damn  _ tired _ … Jaskier thinks there’s a chance he might actually be able to sleep.

He expects Geralt to put up more of a fuss about being the little spoon, but as soon as Jaskier rolls off of his belly, he has his back to the smaller teen’s stomach and is tugging his arms around him in a tight embrace. Jaskier smiles, resting his forehead in the crook of Geralt’s neck and easing one slim leg in-between Geralt’s thick thighs. The clock on his nightstand reads 2:14AM… well, shit. So much for a restful night. Keeping his arms around Geralt, he takes the clock and adjusts his alarm for 5:30. That should wake him with plenty of time to…  _ straighten up _ before his mom came calling for breakfast. 

His parents don’t…  _ know _ about Geralt. They are firmly convinced that he is a very,  _ very _ good friend, and Jaskier is content to keep it that way for the time being. Now is not the time to be contemplating coming out to his parents. Maybe it will never be the right time.. 

The important people… Geralt, Yennefer, Triss… all know and accept him. Whether or not his parents accept him… well, it never really bothered him before. He can’t --  _ won’t _ \-- change himself, regardless of their answer.

And he’s fairly confident that he knows what their response would be, anyway.

But that’s not what’s important right now. The beautiful teen shuddering in his arms is what’s important. He presses a kiss just below Geralt’s ear, mumbling a soft, “I love you, you know. Forever and always. No matter what.”

Geralt’s lips curl into a small smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “...I love you, too.” 

“Good thing, ‘cause you’re kinda stuck with me.” That earns a small chuckle from Geralt, before the blond teen cuddles closer, his eyes sliding closed.

And the last thing he says before drifting off makes Jaskier’s heart swell, “Good.”


	2. #HomeSweetHome

Jaskier is  _ exhausted _ . Three hours of sleep is nowhere  _ near _ enough. 

He hits the snooze button on his alarm with a bit more force than necessary, knocking his alarm clock off of the end table in the process. It hits the floor with a soft metallic  _ thunk _ , and bounces somewhere underneath the bed.  _ Fuck _ . He doesn’t want to get up, but now he  _ has _ to, because if he  _ doesn’t _ , in a little less than seven minutes, the alarm will start up again and it will wake up Geralt and the other teen deserves to sleep, even if it’s only for another half-hour or so. ...But it seems as if Geralt has a different idea.

When Jaskier finally opens his swollen blue eyes, he discovers that he’s being  _ watched _ . At some point in the night, Geralt had rolled over so that they were belly to belly, and had apparently been enjoying watching his boyfriend while he slept. Jaskier offers him a sleepy smile, color rushing to his cheeks as Geralt places a soft kiss on the bridge of his nose. Geralt is always so soft in the mornings, like an oversized teddy bear… and he lives for those sweet little moments where Geralt’s walls are far enough down that he feels comfortable enough to be as soft and affectionate as he so desires. 

“Did you sleep at all?” He asks, concern coloring his tone. He traces his thumb underneath Geralt’s eye -- the older teen’s bags are  _ packed _ , his eyes red and swollen from all the crying earlier. 

“Hmm,” Geralt’s amber eyes slide closed as he lays his hand overtop Jaskier’s, smoothing his thumb over the delicate bones in the smaller teen’s wrist. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a small, lazy smile, but he never actually answers Jaskier’s question. 

“How much sleep did you get?” Again, he receives no real answer, so he goes with his gut, which says  _ not much _ . It’s understandable, but he wishes that it weren’t the case. “Well, since you’re awake… Would you like to take a shower? Much as I enjoy the I-Narrowly-Avoided-Getting-Struck-By-Lightning look on you…”

“I…” Geralt hesitates, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I guess that makes sense.” 

He makes to pull away, but Jaskier stops him, tightening his hold on Geralt’s waist. “I can… come with, if you’d like. Maybe wash your back?” He keeps caressing Geralt’s face, enjoying the soft tickle of stubble that dot his cheeks.

Geralt’s amber eyes flutter open, “Yeah. I’d… I’d like that.”

They’ll have to be careful, of course. But his parents have a private en-suite, so the only  _ real _ risk is one of his little sisters deciding to get an early start… which is about as likely as Jaskier rolling out of bed at 5:30 for any reason  _ other _ than Geralt. He’s thankful that Geralt practically lives with him already, and he not only has pajamas on-hand that will fit the other teen -- he also has several pairs of jeans and a few shirts. He keeps them in the bottom drawer of his dresser,  _ just in case _ . And now he’s so thankful that he’d had the foresight to do so.

Geralt is slow to leave the bed. But it seems as though he’s hesitant to let Jaskier wander too far away from him, which is adorable and painful all at once. He doesn’t make Geralt choose his clothes -- he  _ does _ have a self-preservation instinct, thank you, and (1) while Geralt is adorably sweet in the mornings, when he doesn’t have at  _ least _ six hours of sleep, he’s prone to nightmarish mood-swings and the  _ last _ thing Jaskier wants is to start a fight over something as stupid as  _ clothes _ and (2) last night, he’d promised Geralt that all he had to worry about was letting Jaskier take care of him, and he’d meant it.

Once he has the clothes, he takes Geralt across the hall to the bathroom. He pops the lid closed on the toilet and gently lowers Geralt down onto it, giving him a sweet little smile… He starts the water flowing, wanting it to be a decent temperature for when Geralt climbs in. It only takes about thirty seconds to warm, and thanks to the state of the art water heater his father had installed, it will stay that temperature for the duration of their shower. Which is good, because he wants to make sure his boyfriend is nice and  _ clean _ , and after spending the better part of an hour bringing Geralt’s temperature back up to normal, he isn’t too keen on the idea of sharing an ice cold shower.

Besides… that would make  _ other _ activities a bit more difficult as well. He licks his lips, stowing that thought away for later. Right now, he has other concerns.

“Strip for me, Ger-Bear.” Geralt rolls his eyes at the nickname, but does as Jaskier requests, taking his pajamas and leaving them in a little pile by the toilets. “Good.” The smaller teen smiles, “Now, into the shower with you --,”

“You are remarkably overdressed for a shower, baby banshee.” Jaskier bristles a bit at the nickname, but it makes Geralt smile -- the first  _ real _ smile that he’s seen since Geralt came tumbling through his window a few hours before -- and so he lets it slide. As he steps into the water, he continues, “And I believe you promised to  _ wash my back _ .”

A nod, “Right, yes. That I did.” He takes off his pants, adding them to the pile. “Well then… make some room --,”

The shower/bath combo is  _ tremendous _ , with more than enough room to fit both of them comfortably, but Jaskier does not hesitate to step right up into Geralt’s personal space. Geralt snickers, “Hello, there.”

“Hey there…” Jaskier offers him a lazy smile, “I think… I think we might try something with lavender. It helps to promote relaxation and ease anxiety. Or,” he pauses as Geralt picks up another bottle, “You want that one? Really? Are you sure that it’s not too… I don’t know, flowery for you?”

“...It smells like you.” He almost seems embarrassed to admit it, but it warms Jaskier’s heart to know that his boyfriend not only  _ likes _ the way that he smells, but wants to  _ smell like him _ , too. 

“Okay. Okay, yeah.” He takes the bottle from Geralt’s hands, unscrews the cap, and squeezes a sizeable dollop out onto the palm of his hand. “Y’know, bergamot is also excellent for relieving anxiety. It’ll make you feel better --,”

“ _ You _ make me feel better.”

Jaskier slowly works the soap into a lather, before positioning Geralt underneath the spray so that he might have unadulterated access to his back. He stares at the broad expanse of ivory skin for a long moment, before reaching out, his touch feather-light as he spreads the sweetly scented suds over Geralt’s body. Geralt stands so very still, enjoying the feel of Jaskier’s fingers upon him -- it can hardly be considered a proper massage, what with Jaskier too wary of somehow hurting him accidentally to really press  _ down _ , but he knows Geralt’s sore spots, knows where Geralt carries his tension, and focuses his attention there, and even though his touch is light, its so, so  _ good _ .

Jaskier is singing something, soft and low. It’s difficult to make out the lyrics over the roar of water rushing from the showerhead, but it sounds like Black Veil Brides. Though Jaskier has quite the eclectic music sense, screamo isn’t usually his forte… he sighs, feeling Jaskier’s sudsy knuckles dig into the small of his back. He moans -- it’s not overly loud, but the porcelain tiles that line the shower seem to amplify the sound -- color rising in his cheeks as Jaskier proved his intent to be one-hundred percent  _ thorough _ as his soap-slick fingers dip between his cheeks to prod at his pucker. That… T-That… the finger slips inside of him and Geralt’s brain short-circuits.

“You alright there, Ger-Bear?” He purrs, working the finger in and out of Geralt’s body. “You seem a little… distracted.” He hums, pressing soft little kisses all along Geralt’s broad shoulders. 

“Y-You have an interesting interpretation of ‘washing my back’.” Geralt breathes. Jaskier’s leg works its way between his thighs, working his legs a bit further apart… the younger teen’s hand settles on the small of his back, encouraging him to lean forward and  _ present _ .

The finger stills, “Would you like me to stop?”

“I never said that.” Geralt whisper-growls, thrusting back against Jaskier’s hand. 

“I’d give you a blowjob,” Jaskier says, pressing a second finger in alongside the first and lazily scissoring him open, “But the last time we tried that in the shower, I ended up with a sore throat and a concussion. And my mom almost got an eyeful. So… yeah. Gonna have to tone it down a little bit, for now.”

A shudder wracks his frame, “Y-Your fingers are so  _ long _ .” 

“Long and  _ nimble _ ,” the pads of his fingers glide over Geralt’s prostate, working the sensitive little nub in lazy circles that make Geralt’s legs  _ weak _ . “All those years playing the violin had to be good for something, right?”

His other hand curls around his cock, “...P-Please, the  _ last _ thing I want to think about right now is you  _ playing the violin _ .” A sigh, “You should s-stick to the saxophone.”

Jaskier smirks, “Admit it. You just like seeing me with something in my mouth.”

“A- _ Ah _ …” he looks down, watches as Jaskier’s hand slides up and down his length; the rushing water eases his movements, each slide making an obscene _ squelch _ . “C-Can you blame me?”

Three fingers now, and Geralt’s cockhead begins weeping a steady stream of pre.  _ Fuck _ , that’s good. It’s been… far too long since he’s bottomed for Jaskier, and he revels in the slight burn that accompanies the stretch. His mouth hangs open, a series of vaguely comprehensible sounds spilling over his lips as Jaskier’s nimble fingers work him over. Is he… fuck, he thinks that he might be drooling, and that would totally be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so  _ good _ . His feet slip a little, his heart leaping into his throat at the idea of falling (fuck, they really  _ should _ stop doing it in the shower… fantastic as it may feel, this shit never ends well).

There’s a knock on the door, and Geralt barely has the presence of mind to thank god that Jaskier had had the foresight to  _ lock the door _ . And then… that is Jaskier’s  _ mother _ , calling them downstairs for breakfast. Fuck, that should be an  _ absolute _ buzzkill, but he clenches around those magical fingers, sucking them further inside, and Jaskier makes a wounded little noise in the back of his throat as he watches his fingers disappear into the delicious heat, his own erection pressing into the meat of Geralt’s thigh. 

“Are you alright in there, Julian?” Geralt whimpers, the pounding of the water masking the near-obscene  _ schlip-schlip-schlip _ of Jaskier’s hand on his cock. 

“Just fine, Ma.” He says, just loud enough to be heard over the water. “I’ll be down in like five,” Geralt keens, cock pulsing in Jaskier’s grip, “err, make that ten minutes.” 

“F- _ Fuck _ ,” Geralt growls, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to muffle the sound, “So… S-So close,  _ please _ , Jas…” Jaskier hums, working his fingers a little faster. He can feel the bigger teen trembling against him, his body tense as he prepares for --

Jaskier releases his cock, but Geralt is so far gone he doesn’t even think the other notices. He stuffs his fingers into his boyfriend’s mouth to try and muffle the sounds he knows are soon to follow, “So good for me, Ger. So very  _ good _ .” He purs, “Go on and cum for me, Ger-Bear. Just  _ let it go _ …”

Geralt chomps down on his fingers, and shit, he’d actually care about just how bad that  _ hurt _ if Geralt wasn’t making the most utterly  _ delicious _ sound that Jaskier has ever heard as he spends all over the wall of the shower. Geralt is breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and mouth agape, blood tinged drool oozing from his mouth. His fingers burn a bit, but the look of blissed-out euphoria on Geralt’s face more than makes up for it. He withdraws, slowly, his own neglected cock throbbing as Geralt shuffles around on wobbly legs to give him a soft kiss.

“How badly did I hurt you?” He asks, voice soft and a bit breathy as he comes down from his orgasmic high. He presses a soft kiss to the bleeding digits, his amber eyes alight with worry.

“What did you do, sharpen your teeth with a file?” He tries for light-hearted humor, but Geralt seems to be genuinely upset about the wound, and so he smiles, “It’s not that bad, Ger-Bear. I’ve gotten worst scratches from our cat.” He kisses Geralt again, “I didn’t even realize I was bleeding until… well…”

Geralt stares at him for a moment, before his amber eyes flicker down to Jaskier’s cock, “I’d… help you out with that, but I… I don’t want to keep your mom waiting.”

A nod, “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably for the best.” He sighs, “I don’t mind, really. This was about making you feel better, and I’d like to think I was mostly successful.” 

A brief moment of silence follows, then, “Will you let me clean up your hand?”

“Ger, I already told you that it’s  _ fine _ . I  _ like _ it when you mark me up.” Geralt’s heart stutters, his cheeks flushing a vibrant red as Jaskier begins to list some of his favorite love-making battle scars.

“I…” he clears his throat, averting his gaze, “Just let me put some peroxide on it, at least?” 

“ _ Fine, _ ” he doesn’t seem nearly as put-out as he tries to sound, “but only because you make an absolutely  _ gorgeous _ nurse.” Geralt lightly swats him on the side of the head, blushing deeper as Jaskier laughs and sets about properly finishing their shower. 

* * *

Geralt’s good mood has faded by the end of the school day. Even after spending their lunch hour  _ napping _ (though that might’ve actually been part of the problem -- despite his best efforts, the idiot doesn’t eat enough, even when there’s more than enough to go around), by the end of the day it’s a miracle he hasn’t ended up with detention. 

“You’re absolutely  _ positive _ that you want to stay for play practice?” Geralt grunts. Jaskier sighs, “It won’t be too long, I promise. I’m only in two or three of the scenes we’re going over today.” 

“Hey,” he turns to see Yenn and Triss strolling into the auditorium, “Drink up, dumbass. Can’t have you passing out because you start skipping meals.” She tosses a bottle of mighty mango Naked juice at Geralt’s head. The teen doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading, catching the bottle with ease and setting it aside.

“Not hungry.” He huffs. Jaskier isn’t above batting his eyelashes and asking the older teen to do it for him, but before he can, Yenn frowns, cutting him off with a sharp --

“Who pissed in his cheerios?” 

Triss is a bit calmer, “He’ll talk when he’s ready. Until then… You know how Geralt is. He’ll drink it the minute you stop breathing down his throat.” Geralt doesn’t like handouts, but he’ll come around if he thinks it’s  _ his _ idea. Or he gets hungry enough… 

“He just doesn’t like watching his little boy-toy prancing around in those skin-tight leggings for all the school to see.” Yenn teases, pinching the bright red spandex between her fingers and  _ snapping _ it against Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier blushes, batting at her hand, while Geralt  _ growls. _

“ _ Yenn _ ,” Geralt hisses, but is largely ignored.

“Mmm… those leggings certainly leave  _ nothing _ to the imagination, do they?” Jaskier looks like he wants to spontaneously combust, and is thankfully called away by the director to run through his first scene.

Yenn and Triss sit down alongside Geralt, much to his consternation. “ _ What _ ?”

“As entertaining as it was to watch you verbally dress-down our calculus teacher,” Yenn starts, smirking, “I must say that I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much in your life. At least, not when the little lark isn’t directly involved. Any particular reason you’re actively seeking out detention today?”

If looks could kill… Triss is about to remind her that he’ll talk when he’s ready, when Geralt huffs, “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me when Jas is ready to leave.”

“Hey! Who said that we were--and he’s out. Dammit. Guess we’re stuck here till practice is over.”

Triss smirks, “At least this gives you a chance to watch Jaskier flex in those tights without worrying over whether Geralt will bite your head off.” 

_ “Funny.” _

This year, the school is putting on a production of Broadway’s  _ Beauty and the Beast _ . Jaskier has been cast as Gaston (and has been accompanying Geralt on his jaunts to the gym to try and bulk up a bit before the performance, lest the director have to make the  _ incredibly _ embarrassing request that the costuming department sew  _ padding _ into his outfits to act as fake muscles). And Geralt is… unbelievably proud of his little banshee, he  _ is _ . Contrary to what Yennefer seems to think, he’s not worried about Jaskier showing off in front of the school, because he  _ trusts _ his boyfriend. That’s not…

Jaskier is the smartest, most talented person that Geralt knows. He has a  _ future _ \-- earlier that month, he’d been accepted into Julliard (not that he’d ever doubted that he would be, but the look of pure, unadulterated happiness and excitement on his face when he’d shown Geralt the letter turned out to be extremely contagious) with a full scholarship, and he was on track to graduate high school in the top ten percent of their class. And Geralt…

Geralt’s been taking classes at the tech school since their freshman year, and if he can somehow scrape together the cash to continue to pay for his instruction, he’ll be set to graduate as a certified mechanic. Which is…  _ something _ . It’s a whole lot better than nothing, but it’s not what he  _ wants _ to do. 

Although, to be fair, he doesn’t actually know what he  _ wants _ to do, either. Nobody had ever bothered to ask him. He’d always known that college was off the table (he may not have been as smart as Jaskier, but he had the grades to make it in the door, if he so desired -- the problem was that Visenna was unwilling to dish out the cash to even give him a chance to  _ apply _ ), and learning to work with cars seemed like a practical alternative. It’s a perfectly respectable profession, it just… He peeks one eye open, watching Jaskier command the stage… It doesn’t make his face light up the way that acting and performing does Jaskier’s. 

Fuck, Jaskier deserves better than him and his train wreck of a life. 

Maybe it would be easier if he just --

_ “I love you, you know. Forever and always. No matter what.” _

He can’t do it. If he tries to break up with him, even for Jaskier’s own good, his little banshee will cry and Geralt will  _ cave _ like a fucking wet cardboard box and feel even  _ worse _ about the whole goddamned situation because he upset his boyfriend and just… No. Nope. Not gonna happen. He reaches for the smoothie and takes a small swig, ignoring the happy, knowing smile on Triss’ face. The rest of rehearsal goes by in a blur.

By the time they’re back at Jaskier’s house, his dad is just coming home from work. Jaskier hurriedly slips his hand out from Geralt’s, and that small action shouldn’t hurt nearly as bad as it did. He bites his lip and lowers his eyes, managing a half-hearted greeting when Mr. Pankratz addresses him. He feels sick to his stomach and his chest hurts all of a sudden and he is not quite sure why. Geralt swallows hard and waits for someone else to start speaking.

“Hey, dad? Can I speak to you for a minute? It’s… really important.” Mr. Pankratz’s brows furrow in concern as he nods, “Geralt, you want to head upstairs and pick us out something to watch? I’ll be up in a few…”

“A-Ah, sure.” He nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets and all-but running to the stairs. He’s thankful for the chance to get away, if only for a moment.

Once he’s out of sight, he slumps, the full-force of Jaskier’s action hitting him like a wave. Jaskier had never been shy about their relationship before, so why… He tries not to let his mind wander to all of the worst-case scenarios, but with his mood already so  _ dark _ it’s hard to avoid that path altogether. In the end, he picks out Geralt’s well-worn copy of  _ Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog _ and pops it into the DVD player, before kicking off his shoes and climbing back onto the bed. A few seconds later, his phone begins to vibrate.

From: Amethyst Witch :smiling_imp:   
Does the cranky baby feel better after his nap? :smile:   
Seen on Monday, 6:02PM

From: White Wolf :broken_heart: :smirk:   
Shut up, Yenn.   
Seen on Monday, 6:04PM

From: White Wolf :broken_heart: :smirk:   
And no   
Seen on Monday, 6:04PM

From: Amethyst Witch :smiling_imp:   
Aww, is your precious little lark keeping you up all night?   
Seen on Monday, 6:07PM

From: White Wolf :broken_heart: :smirk:   
...Was there an actual reason why you started bothering me?   
Seen on Monday, 6:09PM

From: Amethyst Witch :smiling_imp:   
With that attitude, it’s any wonder you have any friends at all   
Seen on Monday, 6:09PM

Fuck it. Geralt isn’t usually so sensitive that he can’t take a bit of teasing from his ex every now and then, but  _ today _ … Today he chucks the phone clear across the room, flopping back onto the bed and hiding his face in the mass of pillows when it starts to vibrate again. He must’ve dosed off somewhere along the line, because the next thing he knows, Jaskier is sitting beside him on the bed, combing his fingers through the strands of hair that had fallen from his bun. When he sees that Geralt is awake, he smiles, though Geralt struggles to return it.

“You have the key to your apartment on you, right?” He asks. After a second, Geralt nods. “My dad and I are going to head over in a couple of hours and grab your stuff for you. Probably after dinner.” His free hand comes down to rub Geralt’s belly, “Do you want to watch the movie, or sleep some more? I won’t be upset if you want to sleep.”

Geralt blinks, struggling to process how Jaskier touches him so  _ freely _ now, in the comfort of his own bedroom, after he’d made such a production of yanking his hand back earlier… “The, uh… The movie would be good, yeah.”

“Are you okay?” He asks, smile faltering. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”

“No, I… I’m fine. No nightmares.” He licks his lips, thinking back to the auditorium where he’d… albeit  _ very briefly _ … considered ending their relationship. “You don’t… have to do  _ that _ , you know. I don’t want you to feel forced to do something you don’t want to --,”

Jaskier’s brows furrow, “Do  _ what _ ?”

Geralt looks down, “You know.  _ Touch _ me.”

The younger teen blinks, his expression shifting from concern to confusion. “But I…  _ want _ to touch you? I like having my hands on you, making you feel good…” he continues to ramble on, bending down to nibble on the shell of Geralt’s ear. “That is… so long as  _ you _ want me to touch you.” He adds hurriedly.

“I… yeah. I do. Of course I do.” Fuck, they’ve been together for  _ how _ many years and this shit is  _ still _ awkward. Talking has never really been his forte. Especially not about his feelings. That morning was a rare anomaly, considering he’d already been crying long before he’d found the courage to seek out Jaskier --

“Are you  _ sure _ that you’re alright?” He asks one more time. “You know that you can tell me anything --,”

“I’m  _ fine. _ ” He says, a bit too firmly, and instantly feels a wave of regret when he feels Jaskier flinch. “Let’s just watch the movie, okay?” After a second, Jaskier starts to rub his belly again and it feels…  _ very _ nice.

“...Okay. If you say so.”

* * *

“...And that should be the last of it.” Mr. Pankratz places the last of Geralt’s belongings in Jaskier’s room. There… isn’t a lot. In fact, the amount of stuff that the two of them had hauled in is less than half of what Jaskier has in his own room…

“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry to have made you go through all the trouble.” He says, although Jaskier’s dad merely waves off the apology. “Y-You’re sure that it’s alright that I stay here with you?”

“Of course.” He nods, “As long as you don’t mind sharing a room with this one here, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Make yourself at home.” He and Jaskier share a look, but neither say a word. “Oh, and we found a little one hanging out behind your complex who wanted to come say hello…”

“Little one…?” There’s the sharp  _ tingle _ of a bell, as a tiny brown tabby comes racing through Mr. Pankratz’s legs. “Roach?!”

Roach is an indoor/outdoor cat, and he’d let the cat out as soon as the heat cut out, in the hopes she’d be able to find some place warmer than the inside of their apartment. He’d been worried sick about her, and apparently the feeling was mutual, because there she is, mewling as she weaves in-between his legs, getting her fur, and her scent, all over his pants. His eyes burn with tears as he bends down, scooping the little fuzzball into his arms and bringing her in for a tight, sweet hug. 

“Everything is going to be alright now, okay?” Mr. Pankratz smiles, “If you need anything, just let me or Mrs. Pankratz know. Until then... “ he proceeds to leave them to their own devices. 

Geralt cuddles his cat for a few moments longer, before Jaskier comes up beside him, wrapping his arms around his middle and resting his face between his shoulder blades. “You’re smiling.” 

Geralt falters for a second, “I…”

“I like it.” He says, “I like when you smile. I’ll find a way to make it happen more often.” He continues, “You’re safe now, Geralt. And even… even if you don’t believe it now, one day, I hope you’ll see…”

He wants to bring up the fact that Jaskier wouldn’t even  _ look _ at him while his dad was in the room. Instead, he nods, “I… Thank you, Jas. This means a lot,” and tries to push his insecurities to the back of his mind. Nothing good ever comes from overthinking, after all.


	3. #MotherMayI

“I can’t believe you  _ kept _ this,” Jaskier has been helping him to unpack, and has discovered all sorts of… incriminating evidence as to Geralt’s feelings for him. Like the blanket that Jaskier had made for him in family and consumer sciences in seventh grade. 

The blanket is a beautiful steel blue, with a snowy white mare framed by twinkling little stars. It’s lined with fleece and so amazingly  _ soft _ from years of use coupled with infrequent bouts in the washer. And it’s also  _ covered _ in a healthy dose of Roach’s hair. Jaskier stares at it, speechless, and Geralt flushes a dark red and tries his damndest to resist the urge to yank it out of the other teen’s hands and hide it away out of sight. 

_ Of course _ he’d kept it. It had been -- still  _ is _ \-- one of his favorite things that Jaskier had ever given him. Because he’d been so flustered over how it had turned out. The stitching was uneven, and the fabric was frayed where he’d tried removing the stitches one too many times, and the bottom was a bit crooked where the fabric had bunched while he was cutting it… He’d been so upset about the fact that the blanket wasn’t perfect that he almost hadn’t given it to him at all. But none of that mattered to Geralt. Jaskier had thought to make something for  _ him _ . It might’ve been a bit rough around the edges, but so was he. Perfectly imperfect, as some would say.

Jaskier is looking at him like the cat who caught the canary. Geralt decides that desperate times call for desperate measures -- it’s time to fight fire with fire. 

“Of course I did.” He says, valiantly ignoring the fact that he can  _ feel _ his blush intensifying. “You made it for me.”

Jaskier blinks, his pretty mouth falling open as he struggles to comprehend what it is that Geralt just said. He looks rather like a fish out of water, and Geralt is a second away from making a quip about ‘closing his mouth before he starts attracting flies’ when he splutters, “That’s not  _ fair _ ,” he whines, “I just can’t handle all this  _ cute _ .”

“What, did you think I would just throw it away?” That’s actually a little insulting. It may look like it’s weathered a war, but it’s in fairly decent shape, considering that it’s almost five years old now. That… and Jaskier can’t sew for shit.

“No. No, of course not.” The brunette hurriedly back-tracks, “I mean, I expected you might’ve lost it somehow. Or that it might’ve served as a noble sacrifice in the epic battle of training Roach to use the litter tray. Or that it might’ve --,”

A sigh, “It’s a good blanket, Jas.” He takes it from Jaskier’s hands and spreads it out over the bed, “A lot warmer than those sheets of paper my m-mom…” he trails off, running his hand over the fabric that made up the horse’s face. “...I have most of the stuff you’ve given me over the years.”

The younger teen smiles, “I can see that.” He says, pulling out a plain black t-shirt with the words ‘If You Can Read This, My Boyfriend Says You’re Too Close’ written in bold white letters across the front. “I can’t believe you kept this! And you put up such a stink about it at the mall, too.”

Geralt offers the shirt a casual side-glance, “...I will admit that that is probably the least embarrassing thing you could’ve bought for me at Spencer’s.” He says, slowly. 

“And this --,” he pulls out a sizeable silver medallion, which had been carefully packed away between the clothes. “You  _ never _ wear this! I had thought…” he bites his lip, “I thought you said you liked it just to shut me up.”

Geralt makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat when the dim lighting in Jaskier’s bedroom catches the beautiful wolf emblazoned on the front of the medallion. “T-That…” he swallows hard, “the chain broke, and I didn’t have the means to replace it, so…”

“Geralt,” Jaskier levels him with A Look™, “ _ Ger-Bear _ . If you want to wear it, I can get you a new chain. Or, even better --,” he unclasps the plain silver chain from around his neck and slides the medallion onto it. “There.”

Amber eyes widen marginally, “Y-You didn’t have to do that…”

“I  _ want _ to.” He tells him, firmly. “Plus, I never had a chance to see it on you. Let me have this.”

He’s not expecting Jaskier to go so far as to put the necklace on for him, though he’s not sure why he’s surprised. The silver chain is warm, and smells faintly of orange and spice, and Geralt feels a bit woozy, having Jaskier right up there in his personal bubble, humming something underneath his breath as he hooks the medallion into place. It’s a solid,  _ heavy  _ weight against his chest. Comforting. He remembers being a bit overwhelmed by it when Jaskier had first showed it to him -- that medallion is  _ pure silver _ , and must’ve cost Jaskier a small fortune (despite the fact that he continues to insist, to this day, that he found it for a steal at a yard sale) -- but  _ now _ …

Jaskier is smiling bright, his fingers toying with the collar of Geralt’s t-shirt. If he can feel how hard Geralt’s heart is hammering away in his chest, he’s kind enough not to mention it. His fingers move to toy with the soft tufts of silver hair that dot Geralt’s chest, and Geralt feels all of the tension bleed out of his body at the younger teen’s gentle touch. Jaskier is always so gentle, so  _ careful _ with him, treating him like he’s something valuable and worth protecting… and it’s different…  _ nice _ …

“It looks good on you.” Jaskier says, bringing him back to the present moment. “I knew that it would.”

“You spoil me.” He says, though he doesn’t sound too terribly upset about it. Jaskier just keeps on smiling, pressing a kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth before returning to the mess of belongings in the middle of the floor. 

“You spoil me, too.” Jaskier counters, and at Geralt’s amused scoff, he continues, “But you do! If you had your way, I’d turn into a bratty little pillow princess --,” Geralt’s blush returns with a vengeance, but he doesn’t try to deny it. He  _ likes _ pampering Jaskier in the bedroom, making him feel good…

“That’s  _ different _ ,” Geralt tries to say, but the excuse sounds hollow to his own ears.

Jaskier waves him off, “But it’s really not. Our love languages are just…  _ different _ , that’s all. I show affection by showering you with pretty little trinkets, and you show yours by plowing me into the mattress so  _ vigorously _ that I cannot walk straight the next morning.” 

Geralt raises one blond eyebrow, “Have I told you lately that you have an absolutely  _ filthy  _ mouth?”

Jaskier licks his lips, “You act as though you don’t thoroughly  _ enjoy _ it.” And then, almost as if someone flipped the ‘horny’ switch inside of his brain, he comes back with, “But we should really keep working on this if we want you to be comfortably settled before bed…”

“Right,” he goes back to unpacking boxes with the slightest bit of reluctance, placing the items where Jaskier has told him to. A few minutes pass in silence, until Jaskier speaks again --

“And, uh… just so you know…” he reaches into his bedside table drawer and pulls out… the miniature violin that Geralt had spent  _ weeks _ whittling down for him in their woodshopping class. “I still have most of the stuff you’ve made for me over the years, too. So don’t, ah… There’s no reason for you to be embarrassed.”

“...I’m not embarrassed.” 

“Of course you’re not. You’re red as a tomato just for the heck of it.”

“I’m glad that we’ve come to this understanding.” 

A little while later, Jaskier’s mother brings up extra blankets and pillows so that Geralt might make himself comfortable until they have a chance to pull the air mattress out of storage. Jaskier greets her with a bright smile and a promise that he’s behaving himself and making Geralt feel at home… As soon as the door is shut, he tosses all of the stuff into his closet and flops backward onto his bed, giving his boyfriend his best ‘come hither’ look. It falls a bit flat, but it makes Geralt smile, so Jaskier still considers it a win. Geralt lays down onto the bed with a bit more grace than Jaskier, his smile tinged with fond exasperation when the other latches onto him like an octopus.

“...Did you miss me?” He asks, half-joking.

Jaskier nods, “Always.” And then, “Do you think that you’ll have an easier time sleeping tonight? I can put on the diffuser, if you think that’d help.” A soft mewl emanates from the foot of the bed, and a second later Roach’s tiny body lands with a soft  _ thunk _ between Geralt’s legs.

“I’ll be fine.” He says, and it doesn’t escape Jaskier’s notice that the other teen completely danced around the question at hand… but he doesn’t push. Geralt will tell him when he’s ready. 

A pause, then Jaskier takes one of his hands and squeezes ever so lightly, “Promise me you’ll wake me up if you need me, alright? Whatever it is… I don’t want you to have to suffer alone.”

Geralt’s amber eyes widen marginally, before he nods, “...Okay. I promise.”

* * *

Geralt is spectacularly bad at keeping his promises. 

...Especially when he finds himself staring into a bowl of soggy Cheerios, listening to Jaskier babble happily to his mother without a care. He stirs the cereal, his stomach rumbling as he eyes the unappetizing mush that his breakfast has become. He really ought to eat it, he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, but…

He turns to Jaskier’s mother. She’s… pretty. She looks rather young to have an eighteen-year-old son, but looks can be deceiving. People often told him that his mother didn’t look a day over twenty-five, even as she crested her fortieth year. Her chestnut brown hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, a pair of neon pink cat-eye glasses sitting high on her head. Her face is rounded, with plump cheeks and full, pink lips… She looks rather like Jaskier, he thinks. She even has the same toothy smile. It’s heartwarming.

He doesn’t think he looks like his mother. Or his father. He’s just kind of…  _ there _ . He’s not sure if it would make him feel better, to know that he looks like her, but… just sitting there, watching Jaskier smiling at his mom and seeing her smile back… He can’t help but wish that things were different. That his mother actually  _ cared _ . He stirs his cereal again, noting that Mrs. Pankratz has hazel eyes, though in the harsh fluorescent kitchen lighting, they seem to be just a little bit more  _ green _ than  _ brown _ . 

“Geralt, sweetheart,” Mrs. Pankratz turns to him, her pretty, full lips turned down in the beginnings of a frown, “Are you feeling alright? If you don’t like your cereal, I can fix you something else.” She tells him.

Jaskier rubs his knee underneath the table, “He hasn’t been sleeping too well, mom. I think it might be messing with his stomach.” He frowns, “Maybe a smoothie would sit better… I think we have some more Naked juice in the fridge.” He gets up, heading into the kitchen.

“I… You don’t have to do that.” He says, a touch of panic leaking into his tone. “I just got a little distracted, that’s all. I’ll eat it in just a second --,” he doesn’t want to cause them anymore trouble.

“ _ Geralt _ ,” Mrs. Pankratz’s voice is tender and warm and everything that a mother’s voice is  _ supposed _ to be. He cannot imagine what it would sound like to hear her yell, or what would make her angry enough to incite such a reaction in the first place. “It’s okay. It’s just a bit of cereal, no harm done.”

“...I’m sorry.” He says, feeling spectacularly useless. Jaskier is watching him over the back of his mother’s head.

“Do you want blueberry or cherry, Ger --,” the familiar nickname almost,  _ almost _ rolls off of his tongue. He cuts himself off at the last minute, correcting himself, “Geralt.”

“...the cereal is fine, truly.” But Jaskier won’t hear it, and repeats the question again. “...cherry is fine.”

Mrs. Pankratz studies him for a moment, before stating, “My daughters and I will be going shopping this afternoon. Is there anything that you would like from the store?” She tries, “A kind of cereal that you prefer? Or maybe some other sort of breakfast food?” 

He blinks, feeling tears pooling on his lashes. “I… Could I think about it?”

She turns to Jaskier, “Of course. Julian can give you my phone number. If you think of anything you’d like, feel free to send me a text, alright?” He nods, giving her a shaky little half-smile.

He drinks the entire smoothie, if only to make Jaskier smile. And then they’re off to school. It’s… quite a nice day outside, and so Jaskier takes his hand and, smile still bright as the noonday sun, suggests that they  _ walk _ . And he’s never been able to say no to Jaskier when he looks quite like  _ that _ , so he agrees, his stomach still churning uneasily as he thought back on their time at the breakfast table. Was that… that was how mothers were  _ supposed _ to act, right? He… Is it weird that, at eighteen-years-old, he kinda wants to hang out with his boyfriend’s mom? Just to know what it’s like to witness a mom doing regular ‘mom stuff’?

...He has a strange desire to head to the store with Mrs. Pankratz, Zofia, and Zuzanna. He wants to reach things for them tucked away on the high shelves and carry the ridiculously oversized bags of cat litter into the house. It’s kind of embarrassing, but he has a feeling that, if he actually asked, Mrs. Pankratz would smile and tell him that she’d be more than happy to allow him to tag along. His stomach starts to settle, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blooms in his chest. He’s… Could it actually be that he’s excited to go home for the first time… well, ever?

It takes about forty-five minutes to make it to campus. Yennefer’s step-mom is just pulling up when they make it to the front doors, and they catch the end of a very… awkward conversation. He and Yennefer had originally bonded over their… uncomfortable home lives. Yenn’s biological father had never been in the picture, and her mother and step-father had divorced in the middle of their ninth grade year. Her step-father had remarried Tessaia, and, well… Yennefer slams the car door closed, flipping off the prim looking woman behind the wheel before stalking off.

“Rough morning?” Jaskier asks, earning an icy glare from the amethyst-eyed teen.

“What the hell is your problem, huh?” Ignoring Jaskier altogether, she thwacks Geralt on the shoulder, “Leaving me on read for the entire goddamned night. I had something  _ important _ to talk to you about, you ass!”

Geralt checks his phone for the first time since last night, wincing when he finds forty-two unread messages from the other teen. Jaskier frowns, “So, err… If I ask what could possibly be so damn pressing you need to text your  _ ex-boyfriend _ forty-two times in the course of one night… On a scale of one to ten, how jealous would I sound?”

Geralt flips through the messages, fully aware of the fact that Jaskier is totally  _ not _ reading them over his shoulder. “You don’t have anything to worry about, baby banshee. I love --,”

Yenn cuts him off with a sharp, “If you’re done talking with the slut, we have something  _ important _ to talk about --,”

“S-Slut?  _ Slut? _ ” Jaskier looks like he’s about to pop a vein, and all thoughts of this day going  _ well _ fly out the window. “The only person I’m  _ fucking _ is Geralt --,” okay, that was  _ really _ loud, and is attracting all sorts of attention.

“Honestly, I’m impressed you’ve managed to keep your legs together long enough to keep him hooked for… what? Two and a half years now?” Geralt is actually seeing red. What the hell does she think she’s doing? “You had such a  _ prolific _ history, I was so sure you would’ve done something to fuck  _ this _ up by now.”

“Yennefer!” He snaps, but it’s too late. Now Jaskier is crying, and he doesn’t know what to do --

_ “Fuck you!” _ Jaskier yanks his hand out of Geralt’s and storms off in the direction of their first-period class. Well, fuck.

* * *

“Seriously, Geralt? Leaving me on read the entire night? Very mature.” Yennefer is absolutely  _ fuming _ at lunch later that day. “I swear… you make it so hard to love you, sometimes.”

Geralt sighs, “You don’t have to love me. We’re not together anymore. Honestly, I’m kinda at a loss for how we’re still  _ friends _ , considering that you --,” he stops.  _ That’s _ a road best left untraveled for now. “Look, just tell me what you wanted.  _ Besides _ the chance to tell me what a piece of shit I am.”

Yenn looks physically  _ pained _ as she admits, “...I need you to do me a favor.”

Geralt raises a brow, “You sure have an interesting way of asking for favors.”

“Look,” she drums her fingers on the table, irritation practically  _ oozing _ from her pores, “my step-dad found out I’m being considered for admission to Princeton’s Political Science program, and he won’t take me, or pay for the transportation, because he doesn’t approve of the major. I… I need a ride.”

He blinks, “Yenn… that’s a sixteen and a half hour car ride. We’d murder each other long before we even arrived.” He and Yenn are at their best when there is some sort of buffer between them, like Jaskier. Speaking of which, he’s beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t have gone with when his little banshee had stormed off earlier.

Yenn is well-known for her poisonous, catty remarks -- the sting is often twice as powerful when they’re directed toward those she cares for (often because she’s learned all the tender little insecurities they keep bottled up inside, and has thought long and hard about how to crack them open and lay them bare for all the world to see). Her ex-boyfriend, Istredd, is a prime example.  _ That _ had to have been one of the nastiest break-ups that he had had the misfortune of bearing witness to. 

She and Jaskier are notoriously hot and cold. A decent chunk of it is probably due to the fact that Yenn is his ex and on some days, when the darkness lifts a bit, he could seriously see himself marrying Jaskier. It’s only speculation, of course. If Yenn knew that he ever even  _ considered _ the notion that she could be jealous of his new (err, not so  _ new _ \-- in the summer, they will have been together for three years) boyfriend, she’d have a conniption. 

The point is she’s said some nasty shit to Jaskier over the years, and usually he’s more than happy to give as good as he gets.  _ Today _ , however, he’d stared at her, blue eyes shimmering with tears, features tense like she’d slapped him across the face, and stormed off without a word… well, until Geralt had tried to follow him, of course. Then, he’d had a full-on meltdown and  _ begged _ Geralt to leave him be and Geralt had…  _ reluctantly _ honored his request.

Geralt had been mad enough to spit nails. Honestly, he still is. He’s rather impressed that he hasn’t verbally eviscerated Yenn yet. Small miracles and all of that bullhockey. “Besides, I don’t have a car.”

Yennefer frowns, “What do you mean, you don’t have a car? What happened to your Jeep?” Geralt flinches, remembering coming home from school in late October to find the pieces of his Jeep scattered about their apartment complex’s parking lot. His mom had decided to strip the car for parts.

Instead of telling her this, he shrugs, “I had a car accident. Totalled it. Mom said it would be too much trouble to buy me a new one, so here we are.” Yenn looks thoroughly unimpressed.

“You? In a car accident? I don’t thinks so. You drive like a little old lady.” She says, “You won’t even break forty on the fucking  _ highway _ ! No. No way. I’m wounded that you would try and feed me such a blatant lie.”

Geralt stares her dead in the eyes, “You want to see the scars?” He then proceeds to begin removing his t-shirt in the middle of the crowded cafeteria. 

She lets him go for a second, if only to see how far he’s willing to strip in front of an audience just to prove his point. When it becomes clear that he fully intends to take the entire shirt off, she waves her hand. “That won’t be necessary. Seriously.” A sigh, “You could borrow Jaskier’s car.” 

“After what you said to him earlier? He’s more likely to  _ run you over _ than let you anywhere near the interior of his precious Prius.” He says, tone flat. Besides, he would never ask that of Jaskier. Jaskier is already giving him  _ so much _ of his own free will, the idea of poking and prodding for  _ more _ makes his stomach turn.

“I’m not going to beg you, Geralt.” Good, because it wouldn’t work, anyhow. “But I  _ can _ pay you. How does six-hundred dollars sound?” Does he even want to know where Yenn would come up with six-hundred dollars? Probably not. “Four hundred for gas, and an extra two so that you have a bit of… pocket money.”

Geralt looks confused, “What the hell am I supposed to do with two-hundred dollars worth of pocket money?”

Yenn’s frown deepens, “I don’t know, buy something nice for your boy-toy?” She motions to the chain around Geralt’s neck, “Maybe buy him something pretty, as a ‘thank you’ for that medallion?”

...Geralt had already  _ thanked _ him for the medallion quite thoroughly, but… it wouldn’t hurt, to buy him a pretty little trinket. His little banshee is very fond of rings, after all… and even if two-hundred dollars would buy an utterly laughable engagement ring, perhaps he could find a promise ring suitable to Jaskier’s tastes? It’s… something to  _ consider _ , at any rate. He’s not about to go and start making promises that he cannot keep, and he’s not going to ask his boyfriend to let him borrow his car so that he can ride across the country on a sixteen hour long road trip with his ex. Fuck, it sounds like an even  _ worse _ idea when you phrase it like  _ that _ .

But still… six-hundred dollars is  _ a lot _ of money if he can get his hands on a car. Maybe, if he can convince the two of them to kiss and make-up, Jaskier would be amenable to the idea of coming along with (especially if he knew someone else would be bearing the cost of gas). Of course, for that to work, Yenn might  _ actually _ have to grovel. And, of course, there’s always the possibility that Jas would get fed up with her in the midst of the trip and opt to strand her in Jersey. He snorts, imagining the influx of irritated texts that would surely follow. 

Fuck, if she goes and pulls something like she did today, he might just let Jaskier do it. 

This is an absolutely  _ awful _ idea. ...He thinks he ought to be rather alarmed by the fact that it is becoming more and more appealing by the moment. He says, “You’ll apologize to Jaskier.”

“So he’s slept with one, or two… or twelve people. That’s his prerogative. I never meant it as an insult.” She says. Geralt glares at her, knowing full-well how hard it had been for Jaskier to come out to them and feeling majorly disappointed in Yenn for what she’d said -- no matter how she claims to have meant it.

“It bothers him a lot, you know. How many people he’s been with. He got himself so worked up over taking my virginity, he tried to  _ break up with me _ . All because he’d thought that we… you know,” he gestures vaguely between them. “He usually isn’t comfortable with formal relationships, dating… even after two and a half years, he still worries he’ll fuck it up --,”

Yenn throws her hands up, “Alright! Alright, I’ll talk to him.  _ Happy now _ ?” He’d be a lot happier if it didn’t feel like he had to guilt her into it, but he’ll take his victories, however small they may be. 

“...I’ll consider it. After you apologize. You really hurt him, Yenn, and I’m not just going to let that slide.” 

“Fine, fine. I’m  _ sorry _ . I didn’t mean to make him cry.” She says, “I’ll talk to him after school, when he’s done with play practice. But I need an answer by the end of the week. The interview is on Saturday.”

Could she have given him  _ less _ notice? “Like I said… I’ll think about it.” And with that, he goes back to his lunch… squirreling a bit of it away to give to Jaskier later. He can only hope that the day calms down from here on out. 

He should know by now that he’s not that lucky. 


	4. #Shotgun

Jaskier cuts the rest of their classes that afternoon, and when he  _ finally _ arrives at play practice, he’s red-faced and miserable and… his clothes smell faintly of tobacco. He’s anxious and jittery, and looks torn between launching himself into Geralt’s arms and sobbing into his chest and turning around to race off in the other direction. 

In other words, not  _ too _ far off from what he’d been expecting, but still very much Not Good™. 

After they’d finished rehearsing the scene where Gaston falls to his death after losing his epic battle against the dying Beast (and Geralt felt his soul leave his body because  _ shit _ , theatre magic be damned, there is no  _ nice _ way to drop fifteen feet off of the back of the stage), he decides to seek out Jaskier. He’s not surprised to find the younger teen backstage, inspecting the beginnings of what will soon be a wickedly colorful bruise in the mirror. There’s a half-crushed pack of menthols sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans, and Geralt uses them as a perfect excuse to drag his boyfriend outside through the emergency exit (the alarm’s been broken since long before they’d started attending classes at the high school, and he doubts it’ll be fixed anytime soon…) to talk.

He doesn’t smoke much, so instead of bumming a cigarette off of the other, he suggests that they share. Jaskier blinks his pretty, red-rimmed blue eyes at him and complies with the sort of laziness of one who’s much too tired to fight. He sticks the cigarette between Geralt’s plump lips and lights him up, slipping the lighter and the abused carton back into his pocket. Geralt takes a slow drag, almost choking when Jaskier finally seems to make up his damned mind and sprawls himself out over Geralt’s stomach, letting out the most gut-wrenching sob the blond haired teen has ever had the misfortune of hearing.  _ Fuck _ , Yenn may be one of his oldest and best friends, but there are some days… He takes another drag, before passing the cigarette to Jaskier.

“Where did you run off to?” He asks. It seems as good a place to start as any. He rakes his fingers through Jaskier’s messy hair and waits, knowing that, should he start to push, the only thing he’d succeed in doing is causing his boyfriend to shut down completely. 

Jaskier twists slightly, pressing his lips ever so gently to Geralt’s. He teases the larger teen’s lips open with a quick swipe of the tongue, exhaling a rich cloud of strongly scented smoke into the other’s mouth. “Bathroom,” he says, breathless. Then, “I’m surprised you noticed, considering how cozy you got with Yennefer.”

Geralt breathes in deep, high on the taste of mint that clings to the inside of Jaskier’s mouth and the velvety softness of his lips. “Cozy?” He frowns, “We were talking. About  _ you _ . About what happened this morning --,”

“About her calling me a slut?” Jaskier laughs brokenly. “It’s not like it’s the first time someone’s called me that, you know. No need to get your pretty little g-string in a twist, Ger-Bear. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

Geralt shakes his head, “You were  _ crying _ . And you… You don’t…” he frowns, biting down on his bottom lip as he struggles to find the words. Jaskier takes another drag on the cigarette, “You don’t usually push me away like that.”

They kiss again, and Geralt’s lungs begin to  _ burn _ as Jaskier exhales another puff of smoke into his mouth, “...You’re adorable when you’re concerned, you know that?” A sigh, “You really don’t need to worry about me, alright? I cried in the bathroom for like half an hour, then I got a nasty headache and passed out --,”

Is that  _ really _ supposed to make him feel better? “Are you dehydrated?” He asks.

Jaskier shrugs, “I don’t know. Probably. Though I do feel a whole hell of a lot better now.”

“Even if you’re used to it,” he says, “and there’s no reason that you should have to be used to it,” he continues, catching a few more tears as they roll down his cheeks, “what she said to you was wrong and I told her that at lunch today. Your sexual history doesn’t define you.” 

“That’s easy for you to say, when I’m the one who took your flower… err,  _ both _ of your flowers.” Jaskier says as he uses the dying ember of their cigarette to light another, “How can it  _ not _ bother you that you weren’t my first?”

Geralt puckers his lips, accepting the lit cigarette Jaskier is offering, “...Why  _ should _ it bother me?”

“Because! B-Because --,” he sniffles; it’s a loud, disgusting sound that has his stomach turning. But then Jaskier is tossing a leg over his waist and settling down astride his lap, grinding his hips against him in a slow, lazy circle.

“Really? We’re at school, Jas…” but he’s not pushing him away. His fingers curl around Jaskier’s lithe hips, “Fuck, Jas… I’m not, I’m not  _ opposed _ , but we should at least…” Jaskier snatches the cigarette from between his lips to take another drag, “ _ Bathroom _ . Fuck, Jas…  _ Bathroom _ .”

A few minutes later, Geralt is fumbling with the lock on the stall door as he slams Jaskier up against the wall. His boyfriend is sobbing again, hooking his beautifully long legs around Geralt’s waist… Fuck, this is… Geralt crashes his lips against Jaskier’s, swallowing all of the sweet, guttural moans that bubble up from his boyfriend’s chest as Jaskier begins frantically rolling his hips. This is definitely not how he expected to be spending the afternoon, but he’s  _ definitely _ not complaining. Jaskier’s short, blunt nails claw at the back of his neck, his cock throbbing as Geralt ruts up against him. A little voice in the back of his head tells him that they should probably undress far enough to not leave a visible mess on their clothes, but  _ fuck _ …

Who wants to be  _ rational _ when their gorgeous-as-fuck boyfriend is humping them like a dog? It doesn’t take much to get Geralt going, but fuck, once he’s  _ there _ … He breaks the kiss, curling his fingers in Geralt’s hair and tugging hard enough to make the other’s scalp  _ burn _ . 

Geralt rocks his hips in slow, steady circles, grunting as Jaskier nips a trail of rosy little love bites along his chin. The slow drag of cotton and denim across his cock is like a little slice of heaven -- he wonders, absently, if Geralt realizes that this has been a fairly successful diversion tactic to avoid talking about his latent insecurities. If he has realized… he’s kind of surprised by how flawlessly he’s managed to pull all of this off. If he  _ hasn’t _ realized… well, just  _ being _ with Geralt, even when he’s a tongue-tied mess, always manages to make him feel better. Having this incredibly  _ visceral _ reminder that he’s still wanted, even after everything that Yennefer had said, is making him cry for an entirely  _ different _ reason. What the hell did he ever do to deserve Geralt?

“Shh…” Geralt’s fingers comb through his hair as he whispers all sorts of pretty little words of comfort that seek to penetrate the dark cloud that’s settled over Jaskier’s mind. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I-I’m not going anywhere. So just… just let go. Cry. Scream. C-Cuss. Whatever. I’ll be r-right here to catch you.”

Not for the first time, he wishes they weren’t at school because  _ holy fuck _ … he can feel every glorious inch of Geralt’s cock straining against the front of his jeans with every thrust, and he’s practically  _ drooling _ at the thought of having it inside of him. “G-Ger-Bear?” Geralt hums softly, “Do you… Do you love me?”

Geralt’s eyes widen, and for one achingly long moment the words seem to be trapped in his throat. Finally, he buries his face in his little lark’s neck and murmurs, “Mhmm.”

Jaskier lets out a breathless laugh, “Aww, are you feeling shy, sweetie?”

He can actually feel the heat that rises to stain Geralt’s cheeks, “Do you  _ want _ me to drop you?”

Jaskier presses a kiss to the side of Geralt’s head, inhaling the sweet scent of the shampoo they’d used to wash Geralt’s beautiful hair. Geralt gently nips along his neck, and he blurts, “J-Just not where anyone can see, alright?”

Geralt pauses his thrusts, his body going tense for all the wrong reasons. He’s about to say something,  _ anything _ , to rob the tension from those shoulders, when Geralt gives a short little nod and whispers, “Y-Yeah, sure…”

His orgasm is spectacularly unremarkable. It’s rather difficult to succumb to the mind-melting pleasure when he knows he’s hurt his boyfriend… or when he realizes, as Geralt steps back and gingerly lowers him to the ground, that the blond hasn’t cum. The blond says nothing as he makes quick work of cleaning him up, doing his best to make it look like he  _ hadn’t _ just had a quickie in the men’s room. He won’t meet his eyes, and Jaskier doesn’t know what to do. He… Could he really be this upset over the fact that Jaskier had asked him not to bite where anyone would see? He hadn’t meant anything by it, he just… doesn’t want his parents to ask too many questions, that’s all. He’d probably be able to fool his dad, but his  _ mom _ … what is the point, when mothers know  _ all _ ?

“Thank you.” He says, taking Geralt’s hand and rubbing his thumb over the older teen’s pulse point. “I am feeling better. Much better.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “...Well, since I’ve missed the entirety of rehearsal now, what do you say we head home? Mom is making meatloaf for dinner…”

His stomach rumbles. Loudly. “Yeah, that… that sounds good.”

* * *

“So, Geralt,” Mrs. Pankratz smiles at him, “is there anyone special in your life? A young lady, perhaps?”

Geralt flushes, casting a quick side-glance at Jaskier. There were no visible marks from their earlier excursion, just as the brunette had wanted. “Um, well, not a young --,”

Jaskier cuts him off, “Come now, Geralt. There’s no reason to be shy.” The blond blinks, unsure where his boyfriend is about to go with this, but somehow certain that he’s not going to like it. “Her name is Yennefer. They’re a real cute couple… They’ve been together for two and a half years now --,”

Geralt’s amber eyes blew wide, “Y-Yennefer?!” Jaskier  _ thunks _ his leg underneath the table, “Oh, r-right. Yennefer. My…  _ girlfriend. _ ” Had Jaskier really told his parents that he’s dating  _ Yennefer _ ?

“Yennefer…” Mrs. Pankratz hums, thinking, “Is that that lovely young woman with the amethyst eyes?” Jaskier forces a too bright smile onto his face, “I’m sure that the two of you make a  _ lovely _ couple, Geralt. I only wish that my little Julian could find someone half as sweet --,”

_ “Mom,” _ Jaskier rolls his eyes, rubbing Geralt’s knee as he silently wills the other to continue playing along. “I’ve told you -- you’ll be the first to know when and if I meet that special someone --,”

“Are you feeling alright, Geralt?” Zuzanna eyes him curiously as she reaches for her glass of water. 

Mr. Pankratz turns to him from the head of the table, “You are looking a little green around the gills, son. Is the meatloaf not agreeing with you?” He asks. 

Geralt swallows hard, “No. No, the meatloaf is fine. Wonderful, really. I just…” his lips curl up into a shaky smile, “It’s always a bit surprising to hear that Jas hasn’t met that special someone yet, y’know? He’s such a great guy, it’s any wonder he’s not already taken.”

His father nods, “He’s lucky to have found such a wonderful friend in you, Geralt.”

“Friend… Yes, that’s what we are… He’s my best… best friend.” He finishes, his voice sounding weak, strained.

Geralt finishes his meal, which is a small miracle, before asking to be excused from the table. Mrs. Pankratz frowns, makes a half-hearted attempt to tempt him with dessert, before ultimately allowing him to return to the room he’s sharing with Jaskier. As he walks up the stairs, he allows the scene from the dinner table to replay over and over in his mind. Could it be true? Has Jaskier not come out to his parents?

He hasn’t come out, and he doesn’t want to risk them finding out before he’s ready. It’s understandable, but  _ fuck _ , does it sting. He wishes that Jaskier would have warned him somehow, that the brunette hadn’t just waited until his parents started interrogating him about a nonexistent girlfriend to be like ‘oh yeah, and by the way…’ He thinks back to their escapade in the men’s room that afternoon, how Jaskier had been so worried that he would leave some sort of visible mark behind. If he  _ had _ left a mark that his parents could see, what would they say? Geralt flinches, hoping it wouldn’t be worse than his own attempts at coming out to his mother…

By the time Jaskier joins him in the bedroom, looking ready to endure a proper verbal lashing, he’s not mad. He doesn’t think he ever was  _ mad _ . Hurt, yes. Unbelievably so. He’s not hurt that Jaskier has yet to come out, he’s hurt that his boyfriend couldn’t  _ tell _ him that his sexuality is still a secret -- he had to find out at the dinner table, by listening to his boyfriend effectively disown him. He didn’t mind lying -- he’d say whatever he needed to say until Jaskier felt comfortable enough to speak the truth -- but he didn’t like feeling like Jaskier’s dirty little secret, like two and a half years together meant nothing more than constant access to an easy fuck.

“I’m sorry.” He says, before he’s even fully inside the door. “Look, I… I  _ wanted _ to tell you. I never meant for you to find out like this.” He looks at Geralt, crestfallen. “I suppose you’ve figured out that I haven’t come out to my mom and dad yet…” Geralt continues to stare at him blankly. “Geralt,  _ please _ …”

“Hmm,” the blond flops down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and doing his best to ignore the frustrating burn in the corners of his eyes. He’s done enough crying over the last several days, thank you.

“I…” he swallows hard, “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to tell them. At least, not while I’m under their roof.” He begins to fiddle with his hands, “I… I don’t want to be disowned. I can’t  _ let _ myself be disowned. Because if dad cuts me off, you’re out a lawyer and we’re  _ both _ out of a place to stay.”

Geralt looks at him out of the corner of his eye, “That won’t happen. I’d go live on the streets long before your father ever thought to kick you out.” He says. 

“That is… stupidly noble of you, Ger-Bear.” Jaskier hesitantly approaches the bed, sitting down on his side of the mattress and reaching out to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair. “There’s no way I’d let you rough it on your own. If you tried to leave, I’d come with you. We’d rough it  _ together _ .”

“That’s a sweet thought, Jas.” The older teen smirks, “But you wouldn’t last ten minutes without your luxury bath.”

“And you’d starve to death without someone around to remind you to eat.” Jaskier says, poking him in the chest.

A moment passes in tense silence, then, “So I’m dating Yennefer, huh.” 

Jaskier splutters, “Yeah… sorry about that. I had to think of something to stop you before you… you know.” He rubs the back of his neck, “She’s the first one to come to mind, considering everything that went down this morning. Though I must admit, the thought of you and her together again makes me…”

“Ill?” Geralt helpfully supplies, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes. That. Very much so.” He nods.

After a second, Jaskier seems to gather the rest of his courage and bundles himself up nicely in the cocoon of Geralt’s arms. Geralt tenses momentarily, but makes no move to push him away… he takes this as a good sign, and moves to press a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s chest. Geralt makes a noise that sounds halfway between a laugh and a snort, hooks an arm around Jaskier’s lithe waist, and drags him just a little bit closer. His chest still hurts, but the pain is somewhat lesser now that Jaskier is here and he’d at least made an  _ attempt _ to explain what the hell had just happened downstairs. His amber eyes slip closed, and he inhales the scent of bergamot that clings to his boyfriend’s skin, and almost…  _ almost _ drifts off, when --

He can hear his phone buzzing, and before he even has a chance to reach for it, Jaskier is dangling it in front of his face with an exasperated huff. “Speak of the fucking devil. Yenn is texting you again.”

He already knows what the message will say, and he also knows that now is  _ very much _ not the time, but Yenn isn’t one to take ‘no’ for an answer. He sighs, “Look, Jas… There’s something that we need to talk about.”

Jaskier blinks his big blue eyes at him lazily, “...O-Okay? You’re not, like…  _ actually _ leaving me to get back with Yennefer, right? Because, while that would be a delightfully ironic turn of events, I don’t think that I can handle that right --,” Geralt pinches his lips together, effectively silencing him.

“Nobody is leaving anybody, alright?” Geralt sighs, “Look, it’s a stupidly long story, but Yenn has a decent chance of being accepted into Princeton, but her dad won’t let her go to the admission’s interview. She offered me six hundred dollars if I can hook her up with a ride to Jersey.” 

Jaskier laughs, “Oh… Oh  _ really _ ? Oh, that’s rich! She must truly be out of her mind if she expects me to do  _ anything _ for her after what she said to me this afternoon.” 

Geralt frowns, “Jas, I know how you feel about her, but I could  _ really _ use the money.”

“Geralt, you don’t  _ need _ the money. My parents understand your situation, they’re not going to charge you for room and board…” he looks up into Geralt’s eyes, his lips turning down into a frown when he sees the far-off expression on the other’s face. “Ger-Bear… what is it that you aren’t telling me?”

They stare at each other intensely for several moments, before Geralt sighs, “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” A nod, “I haven’t had my anti-anxiety meds in about a week and I feel like shit. I need to fill my prescription.”

Jaskier’s grip on him tightens, “Come to think of it, I didn’t see  _ any _ of your meds when we went to clean out your apartment. Not even an empty pill bottle.”

Geralt looks  _ incredibly _ embarrassed and put-out as he continues, “I… S-She took me off the insurance plan, said my depression and anxiety were ramping up the cost of her premiums. I can’t afford to pay for the pills out of pocket, so I’ve been rationing them out, trying to make them last --,”

“Um,  _ no _ . No. No. No.” Jaskier removes himself from Geralt’s arms, tugging the other teen up off the bed. “Do you still have the new prescriptions?” A slow, slightly confused nod. “Dad! I need to borrow the credit card!” 

* * *

“...You  _ really _ don’t have to do this.” Geralt says, even as Jaskier completely ignores him and slides the chip into the card reader. There’s a little under three-hundred dollars worth of pills in the baggie that the pharmacist hands to Geralt. “I’ll find a way to pay you -- err, your father, technically -- back.” 

“Geralt, this isn’t like you had a whim and suddenly started begging me for a new laptop. You  _ need _ your medication -- that’s why the doctor prescribed it to you.” He says, “You don’t owe me, or my dad, anything.”

“I still…” he shakes his head as Jaskier leads them over to the extremely overpriced ice-cream, picking out two decadent cones -- one chocolate and almond and the other orange dreamsicle -- to take to the front registers. “I think it would be wise to at least  _ consider _ Yennefer’s offer.”

“Why are you so anxious to be in a car with her for sixteen and a half hours, hmm?” Jaskier asks. 

“Have you ever thought that it’s not  _ her _ that I’m anxious to be in the car with?” Geralt counters. “Consider it like a… little weekend getaway, with one annoyingly important pit stop. We leave after school on Thursday, arrive on Friday, and have the weekend to enjoy ourselves.” 

“I’d  _ rather _ spend a weekend in New York.” The brunette grumbles.

Geralt shrugs, “We could, if you prefer. Yenn never said we had to  _ stay _ with her in Jersey. We just have to be back in time to… you know, bring her home at the end of the weekend.”

Jaskier pays for their treats, and they begin to feast on the frozen confections on the way out to the parking lot. “If I was to consider this -- and that is a  _ big _ if -- I expect something decent in return. Like Broadway. And sex. Not necessarily in that order.” 

“You mean to tell me that you  _ don’t _ also want a formal apology in skywriting?” He teases.

“Oh, I expect her to grovel. I figured that was just a given at this point.” 

They take their time returning to Jaskier’s house. There’s a mountain a few miles south of their school, and about halfway up there’s a cliff which provides a beautiful view of the city after dark. It’s where Jaskier made love to Geralt for the first time… and it’s a favorite spot to return to when the mood is right. And Jaskier is adamant that he owes Geralt an orgasm after their little miscommunication in the bathroom earlier. He works Geralt over, nice and slow, the windows of his Prius growing foggy as Geralt’s breath comes faster and faster… He ties his fingers in Jaskier’s messy brown hair and tugs until his scalp burns, and drool and pre slip past his glistening lips to dampen the crotch of his jeans. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and sex as Geralt grunts his name and spends down his throat…

When they return to Jaskier’s room, he feels mellow and sated, and a little more confident about where he stands with Jaskier. When they kiss, he can still taste the remnants of his seed upon his boyfriend’s tongue, his own unique flavor mixing with the salty tang of the semen. Mr. Pankratz had taken it upon himself to dig the air mattress out of storage, and Jaskier decides that its best to set it up -- even if it won’t be used, it is best to go through the motions to try and avoid arousing suspicion. As soon as the blankets are set up, Roach hops on and makes herself comfortable. Both teens bust out laughing at the sight, and it’s… unbelievably cathartic, to have that momentary release that comes from being well and truly happy for the first time in…

“I’ll do it.” Jaskier says, just as Geralt thinks that he might finally be drifting off to sleep. It takes him a moment to piece together what in the world the other is talking about. “But only if you promise that you’ll keep the money for yourself. Use it to buy something that  _ you _ want.”

“Hmm…” there are so few things in this world that Geralt legitimately  _ wants _ , aside from  _ to make Jaskier happy _ . He’s… going to have to think about that one. “Oh, and Jas?”

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t care that I wasn’t your first, because I fully intend to be your last.” He says, “So don’t ever think that the number of people you’ve been with bothers me, because it  _ doesn’t _ . I wouldn’t still be here if it did.”

Jaskier sniffs, a stray tear leaking from his eye. “You can’t just  _ say _ shit like that right as I’m about to nod off, jackass! That’s… That’s…” he lets out a long-suffering sigh, “Why can’t you be this romantic when you’re fully conscious?” He whines.

Geralt chuckles, allowing his eyes to slip closed once more, “Good night, Jaskier.”


	5. #PictureDay

From: Pain in My Ass :skull_and_crossbones:   
You planning on sleeping all day, Jaskier? Come downstairs and answer the door already.   
Sent on Wednesday, 5:02AM

“Geralt,” Jaskier doesn’t even bother opening his eyes -- he knew that setting Yennefer’s text alert to the most annoyingly  _ shrill _ tone possible would come in handy one of these days, “Why is your ex texting me at ass crack o’clock in the morning?”

Geralt grunts, “I don’t know.” Not bothering to remind Jaskier that, most days, he and Yennefer are friends in their own right, he continues, “But she’s not going to  _ stop _ until you answer her. So if the plan is to keep ignoring her, do us all a favor and turn your phone on vibrate.”

He cracks one eye open, letting out a long-suffering sigh. Geralt is right, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. Just as he starts to reach for the phone, however, he hears the doorbell chime downstairs—once, twice, thrice,  _ over _ and  _ over _ until all he can hear is that godforsaken  _ ding-dong-ding _ echoing inside of his head. And then, just to add in an extra special little dash of  _ fuck you _ , his phone starts ringing  _ again _ , the messages coming in so fast that there’s no way she could be typing out more than a handful of words. If he doesn’t get up soon, she’ll wake his parents and he’s  _ so _ not in the mood to try and explain why Geralt’s fake-girlfriend is calling at five o’ clock in the morning. 

Slowly, he untangles himself from Geralt’s arms, ignoring the sweet little mumbles of protest that fall from Geralt’s plump lips, before the older teen ultimately releases him, rolls over onto his back, and falls back asleep. He grabs the first article of clothing that he can find, decides that one of Geralt’s worn out t-shirts that he wears to work on cars will cover all the necessary dangly bits, and makes his way downstairs to  _ hopefully _ catch Yennefer before she wakes up the whole goddamned house. 

As soon as he has the door unlocked, Yennefer is letting herself inside, mumbling complaints underneath her breath about how long he’d kept her waiting. He sighs, shutting the door behind her with a bit more force than necessary. This is… definitely not ideal. He’s half-tempted to go and wake-up Geralt, just to have a witness for whatever the hell is about to go down, but he knows that his boyfriend needs his sleep. So he forces a smile onto his face and does his best not to cuss Yennefer out on the spot…

“You. Me. A three o’ clock appointment at Rapunzel’s salon.” Yennefer says. She looks way too perfect -- nobody has the right to look so impeccably put together this early on a Wednesday morning. 

Jaskier stares at her dumbly, “I’m sorry… What’re you on about now?” He thinks that she might be attempting to apologize, but it’s hard to tell, considering the fact that he’s practically dead on his feet. 

“Look, I feel…  _ bad _ . I shouldn’t have said what I did. So, I’m going to take one for the team and let you land a punch to my wallet.” She says, “Whatever you want -- a massage, a paraffin treatment, a mani-pedi… fuck, I’ll even pay for your  _ manscaping _ .” Well, it’s not  _ exactly _ an apology, but it’s the most he’s likely to get, so…

He crosses his arms, “How about all of the above?” Rapunzel’s salon isn’t  _ cheap _ , and he isn’t ashamed of his sudden, burning desire to bleed her dry. “I’m long overdue for a spa day.” 

Yennefer frowns, “We’ll be there all afternoon!” Jaskier raises a brow, and she deflates, “Fine.  _ Fine _ . Whatever you want, just—,” Her amethyst eyes widen ever so slightly when Geralt plods downstairs, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and dropping his chin on the shorter teen’s shoulder. “Geralt. You’re awake.”

“It’s rather difficult to sleep, when I can hear the two of you bickering all the way upstairs.” His eyes slip closed, “She’s not bothering you, is she, little lark?” 

Yennefer sputters, indignant, as Jaskier replies, “No, actually. She was just telling me that we have a date at the spa this afternoon.” He lays his hands overtop Geralt’s, idly tracing the older teen’s fingers. 

“Oh really?” He turns, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of Jaskier’s neck, “Bribery is… an interesting way to apologize.” It’s hard to tell, considering that Geralt had never learned the fine art of  _ inflection _ and he’s currently burying his face in the side of Jaskier’s neck, but he doesn’t seem  _ pleased _ . 

“You can come too, if you want.” Yennefer tries, “Have one of the beauticians take a look at those miniature bushes you like to call eyebrows.” She says.

“I don’t  _ do _ salons.” Geralt tries, sounding positively scandalized at the thought.

But he should know better than anyone that once Yennefer has an idea in her head, she won’t back down until  _ everyone _ is sold on it. “A massage then, at least. I’ll even be nice, shell out a couple of extra dollars and treat you both to a couples massage.” 

And of  _ course _ Jaskier is immediately sold on the idea. Because the only thing capable of making a great thing even better is subjecting the one you love to the torment right alongside you. Which is just… Jaskier gently detangles himself from Geralt’s arms, turning around so that he might look at the other teen properly. Geralt knows that Jaskier would never dream of forcing him to do something that he genuinely didn’t want, but… It’s plain to see, from the excitement twinkling in his hazy blue eyes, that it would make him extremely happy if they can do this together. And Geralt has always been exceptionally bad at saying ‘no’ to Jaskier. 

...Unless he starts asking Geralt to wax. He  _ might _ be persuaded to take a bit of hair off of his chest, but the happy trail is sacred. That skin is fucking  _ sensitive _ . And while he and Jaskier have tried temperature play before (and he does, ironically enough, prefer the soothing warmth of warm wax dribbled across his stomach to the bitter cold of ice cubes swirled around his dusky nipples) it’s rather different when someone is attaching a strip of paper to your skin and  _ tearing it off _ . He doesn’t  _ like _ pain, though he’d learned over the years that he can take quite a lot of it. So waxing is absolutely off the table. But a massage… he lets out a long-suffering sigh… sounds annoyingly harmless.

“Fine,” he huffs, “so long as they don’t touch my face. Or my hair.” Yenn is snickering as if he’s just told an utterly fantastic joke. He glares at her, but is easily distracted by his boyfriend launching himself into his arms and babbling excitably about the wonders of massages. 

Yenn’s snickers graduate into full-on laughter as she watches the two of them, “Oh my lord, you are  _ so whipped _ .” Geralt glares at her, while Jaskier continues on, unphased.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, far too tired to put any real malice behind it.

“You wish,” she counters, sticking out her tongue in a fabulous display of maturity. Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Julian, sweetheart?” Jaskier jumps back as if he’d been burned, stifling the fear that his mother will notice he’s wearing one of Geralt’s shirts (it’s five in the morning, surely she can’t be looking  _ that _ closely) and plastering on the fakest smile that he can manage as his mother slowly ambles downstairs. “Is everything alright? I thought I heard—”

“Good morning, Mrs. Pankratz!” Yennefer chimes, charming as ever. When in doubt, it appears as though the best course of action is to just… pretend like you belong, and it’s not extremely  _ weird _ for you to be in your friend’s house before the crack of dawn.

“Oh, Yennefer. I wasn’t expecting to see you ‘round so…  _ early _ . Are you here for—,” her eyes flicker over to Geralt, who hurriedly shakes his head. Mr. and Mrs. Pankratz had been so kind as to let him stay in their home indefinitely, he isn’t about to test the boundaries of their kindness by having friends—err,  _ girlfriends _ —over at all hours. 

Jaskier opens his mouth to confirm this, but Yennefer beats him to the punch, “I’m actually here to invite Jaskier to join me for a trip to the spa this afternoon.” She says.

“Oh, well isn’t that sweet of you.” Of course, if she knew the context behind the invitation, she’d hardly think Yennefer to be so kind, but… “Do you think you’ll be back in time for dinner?”

Yennefer looks positively scandalized at the thought of dishing out  _ more _ cash to pay for an expensive dinner, when Jaskier chimes in with, “Ah… probably not. I think we’ll grab something while we’re out on the town, my treat.” He says, “I know Geralt’s been dying to try out that new steakhouse they just built—,”

“You cannot actually expect me to set foot inside one of those slaughterhouses.” Yennefer scowls.

Jaskier smiles, sickeningly sweet. “Who said anything about inviting you?”

Mrs. Pankratz laughs, “Well, since everyone’s awake, why don’t I start on breakfast? How do blueberry pancakes sound?” Geralt’s stomach chooses that moment to rumble.  _ Loudly _ . “Would you like to come help me wash the blueberries, Geralt?”

Geralt wanders off into the kitchen to help prepare breakfast, leaving Jaskier and Yennefer to their own devices. Which is, ordinarily, an absolutely horrible idea. But he likes to think that the threat of not being able to attend her admissions interview should be enough to keep her from causing anymore of a ruckus than she already has. The hardest part is that he knows she means well. Yes, she can be a bit bitchy at times, but she’s not a bad person. She’s just… a bit misguided when it comes to how best to achieve the things that she wants. She’s always had a loose tongue and a fiery temper, which is part of the reason why she and Geralt just hadn’t worked out, but…

That being said, Jaskier hadn’t done anything to deserve the way she had lashed out at him yesterday. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he had suffered immensely for it. Jaskier is a good person, sweet and gentle and  _ loving _ —and also absolutely  _ terrifying _ at times. He didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her outburst just because her father had pissed her off, and deep down, he’s confident that Yenn knows that. On some level, he’s sure that she’ll be genuinely sorry about it, when she’s had time to properly process her emotions (fuck, who is he trying to kid? There won’t be any real closure on this mess until after Yenn finds out whether or not she was accepted into Princeton…)

“Are you staying for breakfast?” Jaskier asks, his tone light. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that the mess from yesterday was all but forgotten. “Mom makes the fluffiest pancakes in the world. It’s like eating buttery clouds.” He says, “We can even make you some coffee. Black, with no sugar, just like your soul.”

Geralt almost chokes on one of the blueberries he’d snuck—did he mention catty? Because he is. Just a teensy-tiny bit. “Oh, that’s a relief. And here I was, thinking you’d force me to stomach that backwash you call tea that you’re always raving about.” 

“You’re just ignorant to the healing properties of elderflower.” Jaskier huffs, leading the way into the kitchen so that he can ask his mother if there’s anything else he can do to help prepare breakfast. 

“No, darling. You’re just ignorant to  _ taste _ .” They glare at each other for one incredibly tense moment, and then proceed to both burst out laughing. Geralt sighs. His friends are fucking  _ weird _ .

* * *

“I didn’t think it was actually possible for someone to be even  _ more _ tense after receiving a massage.” Yenn says, looking over the two lovebirds with a critical eye. “What the hell happened in there?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, “It was nice, Yenn. Really. We both had an excellent time.” He assures her, not even the barest hint of sarcasm coloring his tone. “Geralt just… doesn’t like to watch other people ‘feel me up’... which is rather understandable, ‘cause when you phrase it like that it definitely sounds some sort of way—,”

Yenn sighs, “Geralt, love, you do understand that, in order to have a massage, another person needs to  _ touch _ your body, yes?” Geralt glares at her, but doesn’t comment. His fingers are curled in the belt-loop of Jaskier’s jeans, keeping him close. “It’s not like the masseuse gave your boy-toy a happy ending or anything, right?”

Jaskier frowns, “He’s already upset. Don’t give him any more ideas.” He brushes Geralt’s white blond hair back from his face, “I’ll give you a better massage once we’re back home, okay? I know that you like it when I rub the chamomile oil on your lovely bum—,”

Geralt’s eyes widen marginally, his pale cheeks flushing a vibrant red. Before Jaskier can comment, however, the flash on Yennefer’s phone camera goes off. “Lovely. Absolutely  _ lovely _ ,” she grins, showing off the stark whiteness of her teeth, “I have a feeling that  _ this _ will come in handy sometime down the road.”

Geralt raises one thick, dark brow, “A… picture of me blushing?”

Yennefer shakes her head, “A picture of you looking all soft and gooey with your  _ boyfriend _ .” She corrects. “Considering that half of the school thinks that you’re some sort of monster, incapable of smiling—,”

Geralt frowns, “Gee,  _ thanks _ .”

“Consider this as a bit of…  _ insurance _ , for the next time that I need a favor from you.” Yenn continues, as if she had never been interrupted. 

“I’m not sure how well your little plan is going to work, considering I don’t actually care what the other students think of me.” Geralt says gruffly.

“Mmm…  _ true _ .” She drums her fingernails against her phone case idly, “But there has to be  _ someone _ out there whose opinion actually  _ does _ matter to you. And when I find them, and I will, this picture will definitely come in handy.” And then, without missing a beat, “It’s time for mani-pedis!”

Geralt is more than content to sit the rest of the trip out. He has homework to work to half-ass and troubles to brood upon, both of which tend to go much smoother without Jaskier breathing down his neck. Much as he loves his boyfriend, there are times when he can be… too much of a good influence. The path before him is pretty much set in stone—at this point, the only way off the ride is to remove the safety and jump ship. Even if March is a bit early to begin to coast… fuck, it’s not like there’s a college out there waiting to rescind his acceptance if his GPA falls below a certain number. So long as he doesn’t flunk out, he should be fine.

He spends about three minutes on his math homework, before determining it to be a lost cause and moving on to literature. Their class is almost finished reading  _ Hamlet _ , which means that it’s just about time to start the obligatory paper overanalyzing characters and motifs throughout the text. Somehow, he’d gotten stuck writing about Hamlet’s mother, which was stirring up all sorts of uncomfortable feelings within him. Hamlet’s relationship with his mother is… strained, at best. Her feelings toward her son—fuck, toward her  _ entire family _ —are debatable, considering how quick she’d been to jump into her brother-in-law’s bed following the death of her husband…

Geralt didn’t know much about his own father. He knows that his parents weren’t married, but he thinks that they may have been engaged, once upon a time—his mother wears an incredibly expensive diamond ring on the ring finger on her left hand, and refuses to sell it, no matter how tight money becomes. His mother had told him that his birth father had died, but… as the years stretch on, he doesn’t know whether he ought to believe her. It seems incredibly cruel, to tell a child that their parent has passed just to avoid answering further questions about them, but Visenna had never been extraordinarily  _ kind _ . 

For as long as he can remember, his mother had always been… distant. It wasn’t until middle school rolled around, however, that she began to turn  _ cruel _ . She’d made it clear that he was not wanted, that he had never  _ been _ wanted. Her greatest mistake had been having a child, and if she could turn back time, she would take his Uncle Vesemir up on his offer to whisk him somewhere  _ far, far away _ … It had hurt, the first dozen or so times. Now, a handful of years removed… he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been right, and he would’ve been happier with Vesemir.

If not exactly happier, then at least not…  _ whatever _ it is that he’s feeling right now. Abandoned? Lonely? Unwanted? All of those sound right, but somehow don’t seem to quite fit the bill. He turns the page, continuing to drudge through the reading, although he hasn’t the slightest about what’s been happening over the last several pages. 

He thinks about Jaskier’s promise to give him a thorough massage once they were home…

...And how Jaskier had pushed him away that morning, still so afraid that his parents would find out about  _ them _ .

A home is supposed to be a safe-haven, a little piece carved out of the universe where you can allow yourself to truly  _ be _ without fear of judgment or reproach. He was never  _ home _ with Visenna. He wonders, idly, if he can claim to be  _ home _ with Jaskier’s family. If they knew the truth… if they knew that he is gay, would they kick him to the curb? If they found out that Jaskier is bi, would he be the next one out? He turns another page.

He thinks about the picture on Yennefer’s phone, that she insisted on keeping for ‘insurance’ purposes.

The book slips from his hands, hitting the carpeted floor with a dull  _ thwump _ . “Fuck.” He can’t let her keep that picture,  _ especially _ when she doesn’t yet know about Jaskier’s not-so-little white lie to his parents about the true nature of their relationship.

“You alright, Ger-Bear? You look a little spaced out.” He blinks, and there is Jaskier, being helped into a nearby chair so that he can dry the clear polish on his fingers and toes. His clothes are rumpled, his pale skin flushed a light red from irritation… Geralt can smell lotion on him, even from several feet away.

“Hmm,” he doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t think the implications of Yenn holding onto that picture have sunk in for him yet, and he doesn’t want to frighten him. “How was the waxing?”

“Painful.” Jaskier concedes, “But now I’m smooth as a baby’s bottom. Well, except for,” he lowers his eyes, attempting to be coy, “I had her wax it into the shape of a heart.”

Geralt blinks, “Must be a rather small heart. You’re not particularly hairy.”

The smaller teen laughs, “Well, I suppose I’m practically hairless, when compared to you.”

“I love you,” he says, surprised by how easily the words come. He bends down to pick up the book, thumbing through the pages until he comes across the place where he thinks that he stopped. “Enough that I  _ may _ consider shaving. But you’ll never get me to wax.”

“Aww, you love me enough to protect my delicate skin from beard burn. How sweet.” Jaskier is, once again, speaking  _ far too loud _ , but Geralt can’t bring himself to care when he’s smiling bright, like a kid in a candy shop. 

“If a bit of beard burn bothers you so much, I can just stop giving you oral.” He says. The reaction is instantaneous.

“No!” Jaskier clears his throat awkwardly, “No, that, uh… That won’t be necessary.”

He’s not entirely sure how, in the span of the next several moments, Jaskier manages to convince him to get a paraffin treatment. Or why, for that matter,  _ anyone _ would think it wise to stick their hands in a container of hot wax just for the sake of making their skin soft. Jaskier just smiles and tells him that beauty is pain, which is the biggest crock of bull he’s ever heard… even though, he has to admit, his hands  _ do _ feel  _ a lot _ better. Apparently, years of working on cars in the tech school’s garage have left his hands calloused and cracked, and somewhere along the line, he’d just grown used to the constant aches and pains that came with his craft…

The realization that he wouldn’t mind coming back to the salon in the future comes as a bit of a jarring surprise. Even if the massage hadn’t exactly gone as planned, it felt nice to have the opportunity to treat himself… He didn’t have a lot of nice things (or… things in general, really), so all of  _ this _ was new and a bit overwhelming. But then Jaskier is taking his hands and complimenting him on the silky smoothness of his skin… And he realizes that this is something that he could get used to. Something that he would very much  _ like _ to get used to.

Fuck, he wants anything and everything that Jaskier is willing to give. And he knows that that is a tall order, but… Jaskier smiles, standing up on his toes so that he can reach to give Geralt a gentle peck on the lips. Geralt’s amber eyes grow wide as his lips begin to tingle, his body tensing like this is the first time Jaskier has ever been affectionate with him in public. And Jaskier, bless his heart, just takes it all in stride. 

“You ready to head home?” He asks, running his thumbs along the backs of Geralt’s hands in small, soothing circles. “We have a lot to pack if we’re going to head out right after school tomorrow.”

“Right.” Because he’d somehow convinced Jaskier to drive to New Jersey this weekend, just for Yennefer. Because this is a wonderful idea, and there is no way that this can go wrong at all. “It’s, ah… Probably best that we go and do that. I wouldn’t want to rush and run the risk of you forgetting something important.” 

Yennefer, ever helpful, chooses that moment to chime in with, “Like the time we took a class trip to Disney and he forgot his sunscreen?” She snickers, “Did you know that regular application of sunscreen can prevent pasty little things like yourself from getting sun poisoning?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, “Fuck you.” And then, to Geralt, “Remind me to pack some duct tape for tomorrow.”

“Has anyone ever told you how  _ sweet _ you are?” Yenn asks, “Because really, you’re making my teeth  _ ache _ from all the cavities that are brewing.” She sighs, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should take my leave before you put even more of a hurting on my wallet. I’ll see you two idiots at school tomorrow.”

“Bye, Yennefer.” Jaskier waves to her, flipping her the middle finger once her back is turned. “Well, now that she’s gone, I do believe we actually have one more thing to do before we can go home…”

“Oh…?” He’s actually a little tired, but if there’s something else that Jaskier wants to do, he supposes that he can hang in there for a little while longer. Jaskier so rarely disappoints, after all.

“Mhmm,” his hand snakes down to pat Geralt’s stomach, “I do believe that I promised you dinner at that new steakhouse.” He says, “And I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

* * *

Jaskier lets out a soft groan as he flops back onto the mattress. He’s already unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, but didn’t have the will to stand there any longer to wrestle them off of his swollen body. “Why did you eat so much?” 

“Why did you  _ let _ me eat so much?” Jaskier counters, his voice a high-pitched whine. Geralt rolls his eyes, stripping down to his undershirt and boxers, before joining the other teen on the bed. He places his palm, large and  _ warm _ , atop Jaskier’s bloated belly and tenderly begins to rub.

“I mean, you’re eighteen-years-old… I don’t think you really need someone to police how much food you’re eating.” He’s half-amazed, half-horrified by the fact that Jaskier managed to eat a twenty ounce steak, plus sides, all by himself. Even  _ he _ hadn’t eaten that much. 

...Not that he’s been eating enough, recently. And he knows that he needs to work on that—if he cannot stomach an entire meal, he needs to have a smoothie or a protein bar, at least. But he knows that it upsets Jaskier when he doesn’t eat—in fact, he’s fairly confident that that is why Jaskier insisted on taking him out to dinner that evening… because he remembered that this was a restaurant that Geralt had wanted to try out and he’d be more likely to eat if he liked the food being offered—and the last thing that he wants is to be the one causing Jaskier pain. 

He knows that his boyfriend promised him a massage, but, to be honest… he’s more than content to sit there and rub Jaskier’s aching belly. There’ll be more than enough time that weekend to make-up for the missed opportunity, especially considering that there will not be any parents around to accidentally stumble in upon something that they shouldn’t. 

Not to mention the fact that Jaskier’s dad had booked them a room at the Langham for the duration of their stay, which cost more for a single night than Geralt had seen at any one point in his life. 

This is definitely going to be a weekend to remember.

“You alright there, love?” Jaskier wheezes, and Geralt thinks that he should be the one asking that of the younger. “Don’t think too hard, you might burst a blood vessel.” 

Geralt definitely doesn’t pout. Instead, he replies, “Just… thinking about which Broadway show I want to take you to, that’s all. Do you have a preference?” And  _ that _ opens the floodgates, getting Jaskier to babble  _ on _ and  _ on _ about the various shows currently gracing the Broadway stage. After awhile, Geralt starts to tune him out again.

...He thinks about the picture on Yennefer’s phone, as he continues to work his hands in soothing circles upon Jaskier’s belly. He wonders if the price of asking her to delete it is worth mentioning it at all. What would Yennefer ask of him…?

His hand stills, a curse leaving his lips before he has the chance to properly reign it in. “ _ Fuck _ .”


	6. #PromDate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING(s): This chapter contains mentions of child abuse and victim blaming. The tags have been adjusted accordingly. Please proceed with caution!!

Geralt has never given much consideration to the way in which he’ll die. 

He winces as the back of his head collides with the door, the squeal of tires struggling for purchase on asphalt and the low drone of the horn both solid indications that they’d suffered yet  _ another _ near-miss. That makes  _ three _ near-accidents since they’d gotten on the highway less than thirty minutes ago. Jaskier is currently giving the reckless driver what-for (thankfully, his window is still up, and the dumbass is far enough ahead of them to not be able to make out some of his more  _ colorful _ language as he flips him off), while Yennefer snickers, typing away on her cellphone as if this was just a normal Thursday and they  _ hadn’t _ almost gotten caught in a major accident. 

The teen sighs, moving to shift his pillow to better cushion his head in the event that something  _ else _ happens along the way. Since they’re not stopping for the night, he’d agreed to split the driving with Jaskier, which meant that he needed to spend the first leg of the trip resting. He’d taken enough Dramamine to knock out a small horse (he’s usually okay with Jaskier’s driving, but taking his little banshee out on the highway is a different beast entirely, and he doesn’t want to spend the bulk of the ride battling car sickness), and every time he’s been blissfully close to being pulled under into the sweet realm of unconsciousness… somebody had tried to run them off the damn road.

He’s beginning to think that it would be safer to  _ walk _ . Sure, both Yenn and Jaskier would bitch (but let’s be real, he’s surprised that they’re not at each other’s throats already－those two can only play nice with each other for so long), but there is a decidedly small chance of dying in a sudden collision, thanks to reckless idiots that don’t know how to drive… and so he thinks he could put up with it.

That is, until Yennefer decides to break the silence, and Geralt realizes he didn’t pack his headphones. Fuck.

“So, Jaskier…” Yennefer’s amethyst eyes flicker down to her phone, “Did you know that Valdo Marx asked Triss to prom?” Geralt lets out a long-suffering sigh, practically able to hear Jaskier’s teeth  _ grinding _ from his position in the backseat. “She said yes, of course. We’re going dress shopping next week, and were wondering－,”

Jaskier frowns, “I’m not giving out anymore free rides, if that’s what you’re after.” He says. Yennefer seems ready to remind him that  _ nothing _ about this trip has been ‘free’, when he continues. “Besides, Ger and I aren’t going to prom.” Geralt can feel the weight of Yennefer’s judgmental gaze upon him. 

“You’re not?” She asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “Jas, darling, this is a once in a lifetime experience. It’s a night people remember for the rest of their lives.” She continues, “Besides, the idea that  _ you _ , of all people, would turn down the chance to party? It’s unfathomable.”

Jaskier flashes his left signal, transitioning smoothly into the far left lane. “Yenn, you know that large crowds of people can trigger Ger’s anxiety. He’ll go into sensory overload, and… I’m just not going to do that to him, okay?”

Yennefer shrugs, “It’s not like you have to bring him.” Geralt feels something tighten inside of his chest at that.

“Attend prom without my boyfriend? Don’t you think that would send a certain message?” Jaskier asks.

“Plenty of people attend prom without dates. It’s not like someone would be dumb enough to think that meant you were back on the market and try something. You’re cute, but not cute enough to risk getting mauled by the White Wolf, here.” Yenn reaches back and pats Geralt’s leg; he huffs and rolls away from her.

“So, what… attend prom with you, and Triss, and that scumbag? Sounds like we’d have a  _ fabulous _ time.”

“Don’t forget Istredd.” Yennefer says, with a wink. Jaskier blinks at her dumbly－after all the shit that she’d done to that poor boy, what in the world would ever possess him to want to  _ take her back _ ?

Geralt is saved from listening to the rest of their conversation by his small duffel bag, tucked down behind the driver’s seat, beginning to vibrate. He rolls back over, fishing through the contents until he locates his phone. He has one new message from Mousesack, a… friend of his who lives out in New York. Mousesack is a few years older than them, and currently enrolled in his second year at university. In his spare time, he works as a glorified nanny for a high-ranking government official’s granddaughter－considering the age of the child, he doesn’t have a lot of free time on his hands, but Geralt had suggested they try and meet up at some point this weekend all the same.

From: Heart of Nature :seedling: :sunflower:   
You’re gonna be in NYC??? That’s awesome!!   
Seen on Thursday, 4:02PM

From: Heart of Nature :seedling: :sunflower:   
What time do you think you’ll be getting in? We could grab :pizza_slice: and catch up!   
Seen on Thursday, 4:02PM

Oof, pizza  _ does _ sound nice. His stomach rumbles at the thought, and Jaskier catches his eyes in the rearview mirror, reminding him gently that he’d packed some Naked smoothies on the off-chance that Geralt got hungry on the ride. He thanks him with a small smile, but makes no move to grab one; instead, he waits for Yenn and Jaskier to devolve into their conversation about prom once again. He feels a surge of guilt bubble up inside of him at the thought of keeping Jaskier from something that he genuinely wanted to do－he never said Jaskier couldn’t go to prom on his own, just that Geralt didn’t actually plan on attending.

He’s surprised by how much the thought of Jaskier attending prom on his own  _ hurts _ him, however. It’s stupid, and he  _ knows _ it’s stupid, but… prom is supposed to be a major relationship milestone, and the idea of sending Jaskier off on his own makes him feel like he’s failed the brunette somehow. And he knows that Jaskier doesn’t see it that way－that Jaskier would  _ tell _ him if he felt like he was missing out on something－but still…

The horn blares, and seconds later the car swerves, sending Geralt tumbling off of the back seat as Jaskier slams on the brakes with a bit more force than necessary.  _ Fuck _ this. If he  _ ever _ has to drive on the highway again, they’re going to avoid the shitstorm that is rush hour traffic like the plague. 

He looks down at his phone. If they survive this goddamned car ride, they should be arriving in New York City at around ten o’clock Friday morning. He wonders, absently, if he should ask Jaskier if he wants to come along. He’s never met Mousesack before, but he thinks that the two of them would get on rather well. Jaskier just has this way of making people  _ like _ him－of grabbing on tight and refusing to let go, until eventually, you stop trying to fight the inevitable. Besides, it’s not like he has anything to hide from Jaskier. Mousesack is a friend, nothing more. And alright, he may have been the one to first make Geralt question his sexuality, but it had been a fleeting infatuation that hadn’t gone anywhere. Fuck… maybe it’s better if they don’t meet, after all.

“Why do you hate Valdo Marx so much?” Yennefer’s tone is light, airy, as if she hasn’t the slightest clue that she’s just activated a bloody  _ minefield _ . Jaskier probably has enough material to last the entire car ride; Geralt should know, he’s been on the receiving end of a multitude of Valdo-inspired rants. He turns back to his phone.

From: The Quiet One :speak_no_evil_monkey:   
Early tomorrow morning. Does something like 6 work for you?   
Seen on Thursday, 4:15PM

From: Heart of Nature :seedling: :sunflower:   
6 is perfect! I know this great :pizza_slice: shop downtown! You’ll love it!

* * *

“Geralt, darling.” Yennefer had taken a nap a little while ago so that she would be wide awake for Geralt’s turn behind the wheel, “Generally speaking, when eighteen-wheelers are passing you on the left, you’re driving a  _ bit _ too slowly.” Geralt’s knuckles flex around the wheel, “ _ At least _ turn on your hazards before we get rear-ended－,”

Geralt frowns at her, “Would you like to  _ walk _ the rest of the way to Jersey?” Yennefer glares right back at him, but decides she’s better off cutting her loses, choosing to bite her lip instead of trying the limits of Geralt’s patience.

Jaskier smacks him on the shoulder with something thin and crinkly. In the darkness, he can barely make out the words on the label, but he takes it from him nonetheless. After some careful maneuvering, he discovers… a Snickers bar. “Chocolate, Jas? Really?” 

“Eat a Snickers,” he says, “‘cause you’re not you when you’re hungry.” Geralt groans. It’s a good thing that he loves this idiot, because there are times… 

He rolls his eyes, “You need to pull it out of the wrapper for me, at least. I don’t want to drive us straight into a cattle shoot trying to unwrap a candy bar.” Jaskier chuckles, obliging him without fuss. 

“That boy has you wrapped around his little finger.” Yennefer says, sounding vaguely disgusted. 

“That just means he  _ loves _ me.” Jaskier says－he sounds kind of drunk, as he always does when he reaches that special level of exhaustion where it’s amazing that he’s somehow still conscious. 

“Hmm,” it’s still hard for him to say it, especially with an audience, but Jaskier knows how he feels without needing to hear the actual words. 

He munches on the chocolate bar in stoic silence. It’s a little bit too sweet for his liking, but as per usual, Jaskier had read him like an open book and had acknowledged his growing, gnawing hunger before he himself had. Jaskier is so good,  _ too _ good to him－something twists inside of his lower belly, his fingers curling tight around the steering wheel as his foot unconsciously presses down harder on the gas pedal. Yennefer makes a happy little sound, clearly pleased with the fact that they’re now, at least,  _ approaching _ the speed limit. Jaskier shifts in the backseat, making himself comfortable once again… a few seconds pass, and then he’s snoring again.

Geralt is tired. It seems weird to admit to that, considering he spent so long sleeping during the first chunk of the ride－but it’s not the kind of exhaustion that would potentially have a negative impact on his driving. He’s just…  _ tired _ . It’s been a horrifically long week (fuck, had it really only been a week since his mom… his mom… he draws in a deep, shaky breath, forcibly reminding himself to not get over-excited while behind the wheel, lest the BS he fed Yennefer about his car become a reality) and he just feels so  _ drained _ . Like nothing is going right, and nothing ever  _ will _ go right again, so why bother? And while he knows that that is a dangerous train of thought (and not entirely accurate, either, considering that Jaskier is here with him, now and always, and things can’t get much more  _ right _ than that), he just can’t quite seem to shake the dark cloud that’s been looming over his head the last few days.

Jaskier… His boyfriend does so much for him, makes so many sacrifices for him, and how does he repay him? By asking him for even more. Jaskier is always ready to  _ give _ and  _ give _ and  _ give _ －he’d given Geralt a roof over his head, food to eat (and never once blamed him for not being able to stomach something as  _ simple _ as Cheerios－he just smiled, cornflower blue eyes glinting with concern, and pressed, gently, until he found something Geralt  _ could _ eat), money for his medication… He should be able to do something as simple as take Jaskier to prom. Even if it’s outside of his comfort zone, it’s just one night－it’s not like Jaskier is asking him to sacrifice a kidney (though, in retrospect, he thinks that giving his boyfriend a kidney might be easier). Fuck, it’s not like Jaskier is asking him to sacrifice  _ anything _ at all! He’d accepted Geralt’s decision without fuss or preamble and－

“Car.” Yennefer says around a delicate yawn, and Geralt sees the car attempting to merge in front of them seconds before it would’ve caused a major accident. He slams on the breaks, causing Jaskier to tumble off of the backseat and land in a pile of squirming sleeping bag in the little nook behind the driver’s seat.

“Jesus fuck,” Geralt glowers at the driver, who is already speeding off, oblivious to the turmoil they’d caused. “Are you alright back there, Jas?” He reaches behind the seat, patting a head of tousled chocolate brown hair.

Jaskier sniffs, “Hit my head. Hurts.” Geralt’s heart clenches painfully. Fuck, this trip is already proving to be a nightmare, and they’re not even in Jersey yet.

He blindly runs his fingers over Jaskier’s head, checking for any physical manifestations of injury. “I’m sorry, baby. You know I wouldn’t have hit the breaks like that if that bastard hadn’t tried to cut me off.” Jaskier makes a small, wounded sound of assent. “Are you bleeding at all?”

He can hear the bag unzip, followed by the soft flutter of material shifting about as Jaskier works to detangle himself. He checks himself over carefully, before murmuring, “No, not bleeding. Just… really sore.”

“Would it be better for you if you were up front?” He doesn’t think that Yennefer will give up her shotgun privileges so easily, but then,  _ it’s Jaskier’s car _ . He can sit wherever he damn well pleases and she’ll just have to deal.

Jaskier seems to consider this for a moment, before shaking his head. “Nah, I… I’ll be fine.” And then his blue eyes turn hopeful, “Although… I must say, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed should you, oh, I don’t know… decide that you’d like to kiss it better for me.” He bats his eyelashes sweetly, the picture of innocence.

Geralt blushes bright, thankful for the total darkness in the car. “K-Kiss it…? Fine, just… c’mere, would you?” Jaskier smiles bright as Geralt makes a show of pressing two fingers to his lips, before letting Jaskier guide them to the bruised patch of skin. God, this is so incredibly sappy, it’s cringe-worthy. 

There’s the flash of a phone camera－Yennefer is taking more goddamned photos of them, that’s just fucking  _ wonderful _ (he wonders, absently, just when Jaskier plans on filling her in to the not-so-little fact that his parents think that he and Yennefer are dating… how the hell does he ever expect to have leverage on her again, when she has physical evidence that could, potentially (god above he hopes not) get Jaskier disowned?) He hates that he always has to hyperfixate on the worst case scenario, but as far as he can tell, there’s really no winning here. Should he… say something? What does one even say, in this sort of situation?  _ Not that I want to think ill of our friend, but _ … He bit down on the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood. 

Jaskier grabs his wrist, bringing his hand down to press a kiss to his fingers. He jumps a bit, both from the sweetness of the gesture and the fact that Jaskier’s lips are  _ horribly _ chapped－he needs like… an  _ entire _ stick of chapstick,  _ yesterday _ . His lips are usually so  _ soft _ . Geralt’s blush seems to intensify tenfold, feeling the rough, dry skin glide over his own… Jaskier hums happily, and Geralt takes his hand back, taking a deep, shaky breath as he curls his fingers back around the steering wheel and tries to calm the wild, erratic beating of his heart. 

“You two are so cute, it makes me sick.” Yennefer huffs, tucking her phone away. “We’re going to have to stop for gas soon, right? Try to pick a rest stop with a Starbucks, yeah? I’ll even be nice and treat.”

“You just don’t want me to fall asleep behind the wheel.” Geralt snarks－though he has to admit, a cup of coffee sounds  _ very _ tempting right now. 

“...heh, can you really blame me?”

* * *

“Green punch buggy, no punch buggy back.” Yennefer  _ whollops _ him, causing him to spill a decent amount of coffee all over his arm. Geralt sighs, wondering why they hadn’t just gotten back into the car after running inside for food and drink. Instead, they’d decided to ‘keep him company’ while he pumps gas.

How the hell he’s supposed to get  _ lonely _ pumping gas at a goddamned rest stop is beyond him. 

“ _ Jesus _ , woman. Are you trying to break my arm?!” Jaskier splutters, indignant. Without a word, Geralt shrugs off his hoodie and uses it to soak up some of the coffee that had not yet soaked into Jaskier’s clothes. “ _ Geralt,” _ the younger teen whines, “There’s no reason to get your good sweatshirt all dirty. I can just change my shirt.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt huffs, “shut up.”

“But  _ Geralt _ －,”

One golden brown eye twitches, “Julian.”

Jaskier’s mouth snaps shut with an audible  _ clack _ . Geralt  _ never _ calls him Julian. Never. He wonders if something is wrong－if  _ he’d _ done something wrong. He can’t put his finger on anything that he could’ve done in the course of the last ten or so hours to incur his wrath, and he likes to think that they’re at a point in their relationship where Geralt will tell him if he angers him instead of bottling it all up inside and praying that it’ll just go away. He knows that Geralt isn’t good with talking about his feelings, but he tries, and he’s learned, over time, to be able to read between the lines to understand what it is that Geralt is trying to say. So he stops fighting and he allows Geralt to fuss over him, until the gas pump  _ clicks _ and Geralt tears his eyes away. 

A few moments later, they’re back on the road with a full-tank of gas and significantly happier bellies. Jaskier had offered to drive, but Geralt had shot him down rather forcefully, bundling him back up in the back of the car and making sure that he was comfortable before returning behind the wheel. He drank his frappucino, silently thankful that they’d avoided the damage that would’ve been done if he’d spilled scalding hot coffee all over himself… He watches, through half-lidded eyes, as Geralt adjusts the temperature in the car to make up for the loss of his sweatshirt, weathering Yennefer’s bitching about the increased temperature with a stony face. Again, he tries to think of what could’ve happened to upset the other’s mood. 

He’s interrupted by a soft  _ ping _ , alerting him to the fact that Geralt had just received a text. He frowns－the majority of people Geralt willingly speaks with on a daily basis are sitting in the car－and Geralt says, “Can you check that for me, Jas?” 

He nods, fishing the phone out of Geralt’s bag. “Yeah, sure.” He’s not sure why his stomach suddenly feels as though he’s swallowed something heavy and oily. 

He’s been in Geralt’s phone a handful of times, always with his boyfriend’s permission. Hell, Geralt has something like a half-dozen apps on his phone that he downloaded  _ specifically _ for when Jaskier inevitably kills the battery on his own phone and needs something to keep him occupied for the rest of  _ whatever _ it is that they’re doing. He’s answered texts for him before, too－Geralt won’t even use Siri while he’s driving, so he needs someone to stem the tide of incoming text messages from Yennefer or Triss or… well, Yennefer, Triss, and Jaskier are really the only people that he texts… or talks to… or tolerates the presence of…

From: Heart of Nature :seedling: :sunflower:   
I feel like it’s been forever, man! So much to talk about, so little time :rofl: :smile:   
Seen on Friday, 1:36AM

His heart leaps up into his throat, threatening to choke him. Who the hell is this? Like everyone in their little friend group, none of the contacts in Geralt’s phone used the individuals’ actual names. This could quite literally be  _ anyone _ －though it certainly wasn’t anyone that Jaskier knew, considering that, from the tone of their conversation, it sounds like this…  _ person _ resides in New York City (he can’t help it, he scrolls through the messages, and while there’s nothing particularly incriminating, his chest still  _ aches _ －was all of  _ this _ nothing more than a farce to get him up to New York so that he could…) He really didn’t want to fall into the jealous lover stereotype. He trusted Geralt implicitly, and he knew that the older teen would never hurt him willingly. He’d sooner cut off his own arm.

And yet… “Who’s the message from, Jas?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, as if he knows that Jaskier has been digging through his text history all this time. Leave it to Geralt to know he’s snooping and somehow manage to find it funny. Will wonders ever cease…

He opens his mouth to respond, when the phone dings again. He frowns, expecting another message from this mysterious nature lover… but instead he sees, in all caps, the word REDACTED.

From: REDACTED :skull_and_crossbones: :broken_heart:   
Where. Are. You.   
Seen on Friday, 1:45AM

From: REDACTED :skull_and_crossbones: :broken_heart:   
I’m not fucking around, Geralt. If you’re not home within the hour, I’m calling the goddamn cops.   
Seen on Friday, 1:46AM

From: REDACTED :skull_and_crossbones: :broken_heart:   
Answer your phone, Geralt.   
Seen on Friday, 1:46AM

From: REDACTED :skull_and_crossbones: :broken_heart:   
Just how pathetic are you, to run away in the middle of the night like a fucking child?   
Seen on Friday, 1:47AM

From: REDACTED :skull_and_crossbones: :broken_heart:   
Geralt, I swear to god, if you don’t answer me right now, you’re not going to like what happens.   
Seen on Friday, 1:48AM

Jaskier sees red. All he can see is Geralt at fifteen-years-old, shivering in his arms as Jaskier hugged him just a bit too tight－he’d said he’d fallen down the stairs, and, considering the grace with which the older teen moved (like water coursing downstream, strong and fluid and purposeful), he’d had trouble believing him. Even more so when he peeled Geralt’s t-shirt back and found his entire left side covered in an array of dark, bluish-purple bruises, some shaped like malformed fingers. And then Geralt… Geralt had started crying,  _ begging _ Jaskier not to tell. He’d claimed it wasn’t her fault, that he shouldn’t have made her angry. If he’d been a better son, maybe she wouldn’t need to hurt him and－

He remembers kissing him, slow and sweet, listening as Geralt’s breath stuttered in his chest and his heartbeat accelerated rapidly. He was still dating Yennefer at the time－much as the girl grated on his nerves, he recognized that kissing her boyfriend was wrong, but… Geralt hadn’t pushed him away. In fact, he’d somehow ended up on Geralt’s lap, with his fingers tangled in long, silver-white locks, with one of Geralt’s massive hands creeping up underneath the hem of his shirt. It was perfect. The kind of first kiss you read about in storybooks.

Except storybooks tend to leave out the part where your best friend panics, resumes his trainwreck of a relationship with his girlfriend like nothing happened, and stops talking to you for almost a month afterward. That sort of thing isn’t particularly romantic. 

“Earth to Jaskier,” Geralt is waving his hand in front of Jaskier’s face now, “You planning on telling me who’s on the phone? It sounds like it’s important, whatever it is.”

Jaskier swallows hard.  _ Fuck, I really don’t want to do this…  _ “Yeah, um… It’s… It’s your mom.”


	7. #SadSong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a super fast update :) IDK how I got this out so fast, but the words just kept flowing. Some warnings before we proceed...
> 
> WARNING(s): Homophobia, References to Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms (Geralt has a history of cutting his hair badly to deal with Visenna's mood swings), Child Abuse. The tags have been updated accordingly. Please proceed with caution.
> 
> The lyrics used in this chapter are from Sad Song by We The Kings.

“Geralt…?” Jaskier squats down beside the older teen, dragging sweat-slick strands of silver-white hair away from his face as his poor stomach stages a violent rebellion against the rest of his body. 

“I’m fine. I’m f-fine.” He is definitely _not_ fine, but Jaskier isn’t about to push the matter. Not when they’re on the side of the highway, in the middle of nowhere, and Geralt is literally so upset that he’s _physically ill_. “I just… need a minute.” Jaskier moves to rub his back and Geralt flinches away. “S-Sorry, I just…”

“It’s okay.” Jaskier gives him a warbling smile, forcing himself to ignore the sharp stab of pain in his chest at the thought of Geralt being afraid of him… or Geralt shying away from his touch. He knows that this isn’t about him, but it hurts to see his boyfriend in such pain and not be able to help. “Take all the time you need, alright?”

“Hmm,” he inhales shakily. Jaskier thinks he might be crying, but he doesn’t call attention to it. And then, “Y-You know that I didn’t… I didn’t run away, right?” Wide, golden eyes turn to him, pleading. 

“What…? Geralt, of course I know that.” Jaskier says softly. The idea that Geralt had run away from home never even crossed his mind. Geralt absolutely adores his mother, which makes all of _this_ that much more heart-wrenching. He’d never leave her willingly, no matter how badly she hurt him. 

“...I’m not going to text her back.” He says quietly. Jaskier nods－he wasn’t about to tell him that he didn’t plan to hand over his phone until Geralt had calmed down enough that he could be sure he wasn’t going to turn the car around and race home. 

“Okay.” Jaskier nods, “Do you want me to block her number, just for a little while?”

Geralt swoons, looking absolutely miserable under the stark street lights. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his pale skin, “...Please.” Jaskier whips out his phone, tapping the screen a few times in quick succession.

“All done.” He says, then, “Do you think you can stomach a little water? You need to wash your mouth out, at least.”

He looks like he wants to say ‘no’, but Jaskier is looking at him with those big, blue puppy-dog eyes and he caves. “A little. Just to wash my mouth out.” 

Jaskier feels like the absolute scum of the earth－sure, Geralt had asked him to tell him who had texted him, but he should’ve known that the older teen would have such a reaction to hearing about his mother. He could’ve called attention to the mysterious nature lover that Geralt is supposed to be meeting later today, taken a quick snapshot of the messages to send to his father, and called it a day. He knows that he’s not the reason that Geralt’s relationship with his mother is so horrible, that it isn’t his fault that Visenna is so extraordinarily cruel to his gentle giant of a boyfriend… but if he’d bitten his tongue, if he’d _thought_ about the potential consequences of his actions before speaking, then maybe Geralt wouldn’t be hunched over on the side of the road, violently expelling that little bit of food he’d managed to stomach in the last several hours. 

He doesn’t want to leave him, even if it’ll take him less than a minute to make it to the car and back. He doesn’t want to leave him like this, crying on the side of the road. Unable to provide him any sort of comfort because he’s receded into a dark little corner of his headspace, where no-one and nothing can hurt him. It’s been a long time since he’s been so skittish he won’t even let Jaskier touch him, and he hates himself for having any part in putting Geralt in that state of mind. But he knows that he’ll only make it worse if he pushes, and the last thing he wants is for Geralt to lock himself up tight and throw away the key. Tears burn in his eyes as he rushes over to the car, pops the trunk, and grabs two cool bottles of water from the half-empty case inside. On the way back to Geralt, he checks on Yennefer, who has been kind enough to give them as much privacy as one can in a car parked on the side of the road just a few feet away from where Geralt is－ _was_ －retching.

“How is he?” She asks softly. She sounds genuinely concerned, and, annoying as she may be at times, he’s reminded of why they’re still friends. Even after all of the shit she’d put Geralt through, she still loved him. Probably more than she should, but that ship had long since sailed－at least it had on Geralt’s end.

“Not great.” He says, squeezing one of the bottles just to fill the awkward silence with something other than the frantic pounding of his own heart. It’s beating so hard, he’s certain she can hear it. 

“Look, I know this is going to sound really weird, but…” Yennefer meets his gaze, her amethyst eyes unusually steely, “Don’t let him cut his hair, alright? It doesn’t happen often, usually when he feels really out of control－but his mom adores his hair, and when she upsets him, he chops it off. Badly.”

Jaskier is silent for a long while, remembering the love-struck look on Geralt’s face the first time he’d complimented his gorgeous mane. He never missed an opportunity to tell him how lovely it looked, how silky-smooth it felt drifting between his fingers… “How did I never notice that before?”

“Remember when he went through that awkward beanie stage in seventh grade?” Jaskier remembers, of course he does. He hoped to never see another beanie in his lifetime. 

“Okay… I feel weird about asking you this, ‘cause I feel like this is a conversation that I should be having with Geralt, _but_ …” he looks to Geralt, who has managed to climb to his feet and is wandering back and forth aimlessly, kicking at some rocks scattered along the highway. “What _specifically_ about his hair?”

She quirks a brow, “You know that that’s not his natural hair color, right?”

“Yenn, darling, I know you would have no way of knowing this, but I assure you that the carpet most definitely matches the drapes. There’s no way that he dyes all of that. I love him dearly, but he doesn’t have the patience.”

She rolls her eyes, “His natural hair color is black.” Jaskier blinks several times, trying to wrap his head around the idea of Geralt with dark hair. “Then something happened and poof, he came back to school after summer vacation with a full-head of silvery white hair.” She sighs, “He was bullied a lot for it when we were younger. But the only time his mom ever said anything halfway decent to him was about his hair, so he kept it like that.”

Jaskier thinks he might throw up, or cry, or both. “That’s… majorly fucked up.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She shrugs. _And you don’t either. Not really,_ Jaskier thinks－as far as she knows, Visenna’s abuse began and ended with a few cutting remarks. She didn’t know about the bruises, about cutting Geralt off from his meds… 

“...He really loves her.” Fuck, Geralt deserves so much better, He deserves everything. 

Yennefer considers this for a moment, before shaking her head. “No, I don’t think that’s right.” She says. “He’s in love with the idea of her loving him like a mother is supposed to. He’s desperate to do whatever he can to convince her he’s worthy of a love she should’ve been showing him all along.”

Jaskier stares down at the ground. “So… wouldn’t cutting his hair be good for him, then?”

“You like his hair, don’t you?” He nods, “And you’ve told him that multiple times, yes?” Another nod. “Though he likes to pretend that he’s ignoring you most of the time, he does actually listen and care about what you have to say.” Jaskier sputters, indignant. He _knows_ that. “You can try and deny it all you want, but you’d be sad to see his hair shorn… and it would absolutely devastate him to know he was the one who made you feel that way.”

“Understood.” And then he remembers the waters in his hand, “I should probably get these to Geralt before he starts walking the rest of the way to Jersey on his own…”

It doesn’t take him long to track Geralt down, though the older teen had wandered off a little ways. He calls Geralt’s name, surprised when the teen whirls around and all but _tackles_ him, enveloping him in a hug that’s just this side of too tight. He didn’t realize he’d been gone that long, but clearly it’d been long enough to make Geralt worry－he feels fresh tears seep into his sweatshirt, and knows that the reason he didn’t head back to the car on his own was because he wasn’t ready to face Yennefer. Yennefer had seen him at various states of emotional fragility, but only Jaskier had had the privilege of wiping away the White Wolf’s tears. He lets Geralt hide himself away in his chest, reveling in the fact that Geralt is finally allowing him to _touch_. He would gladly stay like this forever, if they weren’t tucked away on the side of the highway, risking an accident with each passing moment. 

“C’mon,” he doesn’t dislodge Geralt, but he manages to work a water bottle into his trembling hands, “You promised you’d drink a little bit for me. Just enough to rinse out your mouth, and then－,” Geralt obeys without fuss, rinsing out his mouth and taking a few extra sips, besides. “Wow, that was… You must’ve been thirsty, precious.”

Geralt mewls, sounding less like the ferocious wolf the students made him out to be and more like a newborn kitten. “...Want to be good for you. Only you. M-Make you happy.” He whispers, blushing furiously.

Jaskier’s heart swells, “And you _are_ good, darling. The very _best_. And you make me so happy. Happier than I could ever say.” He tilts his head back, pressing a chaste kiss to Geralt’s chapped lips. 

“...You won’t leave me?” His grip on Jaskier turns painful for just a second.

“Not unless you send me away.” He says, “You’d have to break up with me, my love. And since I don’t see that happening anytime soon－at least, not while I could leave you stranded in New York City,” he flashes a smile, and Geralt chuckles a bit－it’s not a great joke, but Geralt’s always had a bit of a warped sense of humor. “I think it’s fairly safe to say you’re stuck with me, and I you, for the foreseeable future.”

“Hmm,” Geralt seems to relax a bit at that.

“But do you know what would make me even happier?” He asks, and Geralt perks up a bit, anxious to please. “If you let me bundle you up in my spare sweatshirt and set you up in the backseat, all nice and cozy. I want you to take a nice, long nap, and when you wake up we’ll be in New York and your stomach will feel _so much better_.”

Geralt seems uncertain, “But it’s your turn to sleep. I s-should still be driving－,”

He doesn’t tell him that, in his state, he’s likely to kill them all if he opts to stay behind the wheel. Instead, he says, “It’ll make me happy to know you’re well taken care of. And you want to make me happy, right?”

The water bottle crinkles as Geralt takes another sip. Then he nods, “Y-Yes.”

“Good.” He smiles, “Then let me take care of you, darling.”

Geralt’s skin is cold to the touch, a byproduct of the fact that he’d ruined his own sweatshirt wiping iced coffee off of Jaskier at the rest stop awhile back. The soft material of Jaskier’s sweatshirt is a welcome distraction from the biting cold, and it certainly doesn’t hurt that all of Jaskier’s clothes smell distinctly of bergamot orange, no matter how many times they’re washed. Jaskier is shorter than him, and a bit leaner in the shoulders and waist, so the sweatshirt fits snugly－but not uncomfortably so. It’s almost like his boyfriend is continuing to hug him, even as he tucks him away in the backseat of the car (he makes sure to put him in on the passenger side, so that Yennefer can’t see the tear tracts glistening on his cheeks in the rearview mirror). Within moments, they’re back on the road, and Jaskier is sifting through his playlist for something soft and soothing to fill the silence…

He settles on _Sad Song_ by We The Kings… and Geralt’s heart clenches at the beautifully poignant lyrics. If there were ever a way to sum up how he feels for Jaskier, to wrap it up with glittering paper and tie it off with a gorgeous little bow and hand it off on a silver platter… He wonders if Jaskier picked the song because he knows, and he feels the same… He’d ask, but the song calms the ache in his chest with surprising speed, dragging him under before he even really knows what’s happening. Fuck, if he thought that he was tired before… he thinks that he could sleep forever, and knows he won’t have any trouble staying under until they reach NYC. He just feels bad that he won’t be able to take a bit of the burden off of Jaskier’s shoulders by driving just a little while longer. He’ll have to make it up to him somehow… but that’s something to consider when he’s not so unbelievably _tired_.

 _Without you, I feel broke_ _  
_ _Like I’m half of a whole_ _  
_ _Without you, I’ve got no hand to hold_ _  
_ _Without you, I feel torn_ _  
_ _Like a sail in a storm_ _  
_ _Without you, I’m just a sad song_ _  
_ _I’m just a sad song_

* * *

When Geralt hands him the electric razor later that afternoon, he’s not prepared. At all. Cornflower eyes flit between the tool in his hand and Geralt’s nervous face, “Um, Geralt, darling? I know that there has to be a perfectly logical explanation for… err, all of _this_. If you would be so kind as to share it with the class－,”

“I…” he looks away, embarrassed. He looks so incredibly small in a pair of ratty gray pajama bottoms and a loose brown t-shirt, “I would like to cut my hair. N-No, that’s not…” his hands clench and unclench at his sides, “I would like _you_ to cut my hair.” He says, before falling silent, focusing his attention anywhere but Jaskier’s face.

“...Me?” A nod, “You want me to… cut _all_ of it?” Geralt would look gorgeous with any haircut, of course, but it would be an actual sin to shear off all of that glorious hair. 

Geralt shrugs, “...If you want. I… whatever you want to do with it… it’s okay. I trust you.”

Jaskier remembers how Yennefer told him to prevent Geralt from cutting his hair. She’d made it sound like he’d walk into the bathroom and find a suddenly bald boyfriend standing in front of a sinkful of silver-white hair. Not… Not _this_ . “But… what do _you_ want, Geralt?”

Geralt blinks lazily, “To cut it all off and dye it black.” He says, then, “But that’s way too much work. Personally, I don’t give two shits about how I look. I could cut it all off and be happy. But you… I care about what _you_ think, and I know you like my hair for some strange reason－,”

“Because I like _you_ , and your hair is a part of _you_.” Jaskier readily supplies. 

“－and I trust you, so do with it as you like.” Geralt finishes, as if Jaskier had never spoken.

“...What if I don’t want to cut it at all? What if I like it just as it is?” He tries, reaching forward to run his fingers through the soft, silvery-white locks. Truth be told, his hair _is_ getting a bit long, and he has some wicked split ends… It wouldn’t hurt to take a little bit off. In fact, it would make his hair healthier.

Geralt looks panicked for a moment, before he schools his features back into an emotionless mask, “That’s your prerogative, then. I just figured that I would ask－,”

Jaskier grabs his wrist, tugging him down onto the bed. “Come here, Geralt.”

Geralt tumbles down onto the bed between Jaskier’s legs, cuddling up to the smaller teen’s chest and purring as Jaskier cards his fingers through his luscious locks. He combs his hair out carefully, dragging short nails across Geralt’s wonderfully sensitive scalp… before grabbing a decent chunk of hair and twisting it up on top of his head in a messy oversized bun. He hums under his breath as he twists to plug the hair clippers in, always careful to avoid accidentally disturbing his precious burden. Geralt is like putty in his hands, sitting so very still as the buzzer sweeps up along the curve of his skull. Hair falls down around them in a river of silver and white, Jaskier making sure to cut so close as to only leave a fine dusting of hair in his wake. When it comes to cutting hair, he’s not particularly talented… but he thinks he can handle a simple undercut.

It seems to him to be the best of both worlds. Geralt gets the close shave that he wants (though, admittedly, a bit neater than if he had decided to try and do it himself), and Jaskier gets to keep the long, luscious locks that he so loves to run his fingers through. Besides, the idea of Geralt sporting a messy topknot… is definitely not unappealing. He hums softly, making sure that all of the edges of Geralt’s hair are nice and neat before unplugging the buzzer and taking the rest of his hair down. He starts in with the scissors, taking care of the split ends that he finds here and there… He mumbles the occasional word of encouragement, and Geralt beams at him, so very pretty, so very _good_ . He tells him as much, and it seems to make him even _happier_. When he’s done, he works some tea tree oil into his hair, to help seal the moisture into the delicate strands. And then he encourages Geralt to go check himself out.

“Do you like it?” He asks, making his way into the bathroom after cleaning the shorn hair from their bed.

Geralt meets his eyes in the mirror, “I should be asking you that.”

Jaskier sighs, “Geralt, it’s _your_ hair. _Your_ opinion matters more than mine.” Geralt seems to consider this, and Jaskier follows it up with, “I hope you know that I didn’t fall in love with you because of your appearance－,”

“Of course you didn’t. I’m hideous.” Geralt says, before flinching, looking like he desperately wanted to take back what he’d just said. Jaskier just stands there, mouth slightly agape because… what the actual fuck? First of all, had Geralt looked in a mirror lately? If he’s hideous, then Jaskier is the Queen of freaking Sheba. Second, how had they been together for _two and a half years_ and this is the _first_ time this is coming up?

“Um, no. Just no.” Jaskier says. “Fuck, Ger-Bear, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And even if you somehow managed to gain one-hundred pounds overnight, lost all of the hair on your body, and… and… oh, I don’t know, you understand where I’m trying to go with this. I love _you_.”

“...But why?” He cocks his head to the side, innocent confusion on his face as tears begin to spill from his eyes.

Jaskier blinks, feeling heartbreakingly _helpless_ . “Because… Because you’re _you_ , Geralt.”

“That wasn’t enough for her－,”

“ _Fuck your mom, Geralt!”_ He didn’t realize he was yelling until Geralt actually _flinched_ , taking a step back and slamming his lower back into the edge of the counter. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled, but I mean it. _Fuck_ her. I’m going to hate myself forever for not just deleting those messages and moving on with our lives, because you deserve so much better and it fucking kills me that you can’t see that. That you think－,”

“She’s still my mom.” Geralt says, sounding so very small.

“No, Geralt. She’s the woman that gave birth to you. She doesn’t have the right to call herself your mother. She lost that right after she broke three of your goddamned ribs.” Jaskier growls. He didn’t mean to start this know, but dammit all, since the floodgates have already been flung wide open, he’s going to say his piece.

“It was an accident, Jaskier. She didn’t mean to－,”

“She weighs one-hundred twenty pounds soaking wet, Geralt! You’re a fucking _brick house_ . How does a woman who should literally get blown over by a powerful gust of wind _break three of your ribs accidentally_?!”

Geralt swallows hard, eyes frantically flitting around for an escape. They don’t fight often, and he _really_ doesn’t like it when they do… “You don’t understand, Jaskier. I brought it on myself. I never should’ve…” he bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

“What could you _possibly_ have done to think you deserved that, Geralt?” His throat is raw from yelling, and now he’s crying too－and isn’t this just an utterly fantastic way to start their little vacation getaway? Everything had been so _perfect_ just a few minutes ago…

“I told her that I was gay, alright?!”

Jaskier feels like Geralt just stabbed him in the chest. What the… Geralt shoves past him with enough force to send him tumbling into the towel rack, and the cool metal bites into his skin painfully. His eyes widen, for the first time becoming cognizant of just how much bigger his boyfriend is than him. He’s not afraid, he knows that Geralt, even in moments of blind fury, would never hurt him. Distantly, he registers the sound of Geralt’s phone alerting him to an incoming text, and he remembers with a horrible sinking in his gut that Geralt had made plans to meet with that _nature lover_ at… six? What the hell time is it now? They’d both crashed immediately upon entering the hotel room, and had slept for what felt like forever. And now… now… He exits the bathroom just in time to catch Geralt beginning to get dressed. Was he even planning to say anything to him before he left? 

He swallows hard, “Where are you going?” He tries to sound soft, gentle. Like they hadn’t just had an all-out screaming session. Geralt looks at him with the same level of detachment he had when they’d first met in the sixth grade－like he’s an insect occupying space in Geralt’s periphery. It hurts, but he knows it’s his own fault. He pushed too hard and Geralt had _snapped_ like a rubber band.

“Out.” He snaps, and Jaskier flinches. He knows that he deserves Geralt’s ire, but he’s _scared_ , okay? He doesn’t know who this person is that Geralt is meeting… If they’ll try to steal Geralt away from him. If Geralt will _let_ them, after his little display in the bathroom. 

“O-Oh.” Fresh tears leak from his eyes. If Geralt notices, he doesn’t comment. “P-Please be careful, alright? I… Do you have any idea when you’ll be back?” Silence. “Okay, then. Well, I’ll be waiting right here for you－,”

Steely golden eyes met watery blue, “Don’t.” The door slamming shut behind him sounds so damn _final_ , it breaks his heart.


	8. #SomethingLikeHappiness

“Well, don’t you look like absolute shit.” Mousesack smirks. Geralt rolls his eyes－he knows that he looks awful, but at least he’d managed to stop crying and he thinks that that ought to count for something. “You end up on the wrong end of a prize fight or something?” 

The corner of Geralt’s mouth quirks into the beginnings of what might have been a smile, “Something like that.” Mousesack doesn’t pry, and Geralt is infinitely thankful. He’s not ready to talk about it, and he doesn’t want to somehow end up starting another fight…

“Oh, by the way… I have someone here that would like to meet you.” The older man reaches behind him, gently guiding the small child that had been clutching at his leg into the light. “I would’ve told you sooner, but you kind of fell off the face of the earth in the middle of our conversation, so I never got the chance. Geralt, this is Ciri. Ciri, this is my friend Geralt.”

Ciri purses her lips, “...I thought that he’d be taller.”

Geralt blinks－he’s already over six feet, how much taller does this girl want him to be? “Sorry to disappoint.”

Mousesack sighs dramatically, “The mouth on this child, my god.” And then, “She told me that she thought my only friend was my  _ computer _ , because I spend so much time working on my honors’ thesis. So naturally, I had to show her that I do, indeed, have living, breathing friends that can occasionally tolerate my presence.”

He notices Ciri looking him over curiously. Admittedly, he’s a little worried about what she might say. Kids have little to no filter, and he’s still sensitive and raw from his fight with Jaskier. “Mmm… give it an hour or two, and we’ll be at each other’s throats.” He says dryly. Mousesack breaks out into peals of laughter, like Geralt had just told him the greatest joke he’s ever heard.

Ciri seems to make up her mind about him then, too. “You have really pretty eyes, mister, so I guess you’re okay.”

Geralt feels a sharp, bright stab of  _ something _ in his chest, but is quick to bury it down deep.  _ They say that eyes are the window to the soul _ , “Well, look at that－you already have the little princess’ seal of approval. I’ll be damned.”

“I think it’s mostly to do with the fact that you bribed her with pizza,” Geralt says softly.

It’s a decent walk to the pizza parlour, but it’s a nice night for it, so Geralt doesn’t mind. He wonders if he should text Jaskier and let him know that he’s alright. Even if they’re fighting, there’s no reason to leave his boyfriend panicking over his disappearance all night. He knows that Jaskier had his best interest in heart, it’s just… He’d never intended to tell Jaskier about that particular incident with his mother. He knows that it upsets Jaskier, to hear about what Visenna has done to him over the years. He should have expected him to have such a visceral reaction－Jaskier likely felt like their fight was a punishment for caring. What was it that he’d said? He’d never forgive himself for not just deleting the messages and continuing on like nothing had happened…

Geralt is viciously dragged out of his pit of self-loathing by a tiny hand snaking its way into his own. He looks down to find that Ciri has wiggled her way in-between himself and Mousesack, and is happily holding both of their hands, swinging them back and forth as they walk down the street. The little girl is babbling excitably about something－he’s not entirely sure what, but he smiles and nods and hums at all of the appropriate times. He finds that he doesn’t mind holding her hand. Before he started dating Jaskier, he might have felt differently, but… He’s always liked kids－appreciated the freedom with which they spoke their mind, even if it ended up hurting him in the end－and kids, for the most part, seemed to like him in return. 

Ciri is anxious to learn more about her caretaker, and she recognizes that Geralt is a captive audience, unable to avoid her multitude of questions without jeopardizing his chances for food. Geralt, being the excellent friend that he is, is more than willing to throw his friend under the bus if it takes the attention off of the slight tremor in his voice for a little while longer. The cool, early-evening air has calmed his frazzled nerves somewhat, and he now realizes that he’s no so much upset at Jaskier as he is about the fact that they’d fought at all. His boyfriend is entitled to his own opinion and, much as it pains him to admit it… he’s not exactly wrong. He should really text him, but every time he reaches for his phone Ciri tugs on his hand and demands his attention and－

Geralt doesn’t notice how long it’s been until they’re seated in a secluded little corner of the restaurant and Mousesack is gently, but insistently, shoving a menu into his hands and insisting that anything Geralt wants is his treat. One look at the prices has Geralt’s stomach doing flip-flops, but before he can even open his mouth to try and protest, Mousesack is giving him A Look™ that brokers no room for argument. Geralt sighs. It’s not that he would’ve been able to afford anything on the menu anyhow, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Just as he resolves to find the cheapest thing on the menu, praying that it’s not too difficult to stomach, Mousesack warns him that if he tries to order based solely upon price, he’ll leave him no choice but to order  _ for _ him.

“You’re evil.” Geralt sighs, resolving himself to his fate. He orders three slices of what looks to be an absolutely cardiac-inducing Meat Lovers’ Pie, a side order of fries, and a Dr. Pepper.

Mousesack rolls his eyes, ordering two slices of the white Vegetarian Pie, a side order of batter-dipped cauliflower bites, and a Sprite. For Ciri, he orders two slices of Pepperoni and a glass of water. “‘m not evil, I just know you far too well. I’m doing something  _ nice _ , Geralt. This isn’t a hand-out.”

Geralt sincerely tries not to take Mousesack’s words too personally. He knows that he isn’t trying to be cruel－he’s  _ trying _ to be a friend. But everything still feels so  _ raw _ from his fight with Jaskier and it’s hard to just…  _ let it go _ . “Right. Sorry.” His voice is tight and his eyes are burning and fuck-all, he’s  _ not _ about to start crying here－

Ciri kindly decides to chime in with, “That’s a real pretty necklace you’re wearing.” Geralt’s hand instinctively moves to the wolf pendant dangling around his neck－he’d already forgotten he was wearing it.

Mousesack whistles appreciatively, “ _ Real _ nice. Much more extravagant than you’d ever get for yourself.” 

Ciri comes back with, “Oooh… Was it a gift from your girlfriend? I bet it was.”

“Boyfriend.” Geralt corrects automatically. He’d never officially come out to Mousesack, but he’d known the other long enough to know that admitting to it here wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Oh,” Mousesack raises an eyebrow, “And would the lucky bastard be the reason why you look about as miserable as you did that Roach the First ‘ran away’?” He asks, knowingly. Geralt hates how well Mousesack knows him, even after all this time.

“We may have… had a little fight.” He concedes.

Ciri slams her little hands on the table with surprising force, “You have to make up with him right away!”

He splutters, a healthy amount of surprise coloring his usually expressionless features, “...Oh?”

“Mhmm. Trust me, I’m a bona fide relationship  _ expert _ .” She beams at him brightly, before looking to Mousesack for backup. The young man rolls his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“By that, she means that she bullied one of the other little boys in her class into being her boyfriend. It’s kind of cute… and kind of disturbing… watching him follow her around like a lost little puppy.” Ciri proceeds to protest her innocence,  _ loudly _ , and Mousesack makes a good-natured show of agreeing with her.

Ciri decides that Geralt needs a proper schooling in the ways of love, and the best time to do this is in that horrible limbo between the joy of finding out you’ll be having pizza for dinner and waiting for said pizza to be ready to be consumed. Geralt expects to feel a certain way, getting told about himself by a five-year-old child who’d scarcely had to lift a finger her entire life, but… in a way, it’s oddly endearing to him. Even if she has extremely limited knowledge about love, she wants to share it with him because she knows he’s upset and wants to make him feel better. This person, who she’d only known for an hour, likely less, is hurting and she wants to help in any small way that she can. So few people have ever genuinely wanted to help him before, and it’s…  _ sweet _ .

He thinks that Jaskier would like her, but then, Jaskier likes most everyone that isn’t Valdo Marx. Or Visenna. And sometimes Yennefer. And he thinks the little one would be wholly enamored with him, too. Mousesack is smiling at the two of them fondly, and he gets the distinct impression that it isn’t often that Ciri speaks so much, or so  _ freely _ , in one sitting. She’s still blabbering on when their food arrives, and Mousesack has to remind her to eat before it gets cold. And then she’s shoveling food in her mouth－taking tremendous bites that are far too large for polite company, and smearing tomato sauce all over her face (she even managed to somehow get some in her white-blonde hair)－and Geralt can’t help it, he laughs. Loud and hard and  _ full _ .

“What’s so funny?” She asks, puffing out her little cheeks in embarrassment.

“You are.” He says, lightly thunking her on the forehead. She sputters, indignant, and smears tomato sauce on his shirt by way of payback. Mousesack looks ready to chastise her for it, but it just makes Geralt laugh harder.

After a moment, Mousesack deflates with a soft sigh. “I haven’t heard you laugh like that in a long time. This boyfriend must be really good for you.” He doesn’t ask whether or not Geralt is happy－not because he has any reason to think he isn’t, but that he doesn’t know if Geralt would be able to recognize if he  _ is _ . His friend had been hurting for so long, he’d convinced himself that that is all he was  _ meant _ to feel.

Geralt smiles a bit at that, “You’d like him.” Why had he been so against them meeting again? Something about accidentally making Jaskier jealous… Did he ever text Jaskier to let him know that he’s alright? He can’t remember, but his phone hasn’t rung at all in the time he’s been with Mousesack, so he thinks he probably did. Probably.

“He came with you, right? I can’t imagine you driving all the way up to New York by yourself. You’d die in some horrific car accident halfway up the turnpike.” Mousesack snickers. Geralt confirms that Jaskier is, in fact, here with him, presumably waiting back at the hotel room. “We can meet him when I walk you back－,”

“Walk me… You really don’t have to do that. The hotel isn’t that far away, really－,”

“I’m not going to let one of my best friends walk back to their hotel in freaking New York City in the middle of the night, Geralt.” Mousesack says, leaving no room for argument. “You can try and bitch about it all you want. It’s not happening.”

Ciri’s big blue eyes widen, “Oooh, Ermion said a bad word!”

Geralt absolutely  _ cackles _ . “She calls you  _ Ermion _ ?”

Mousesack rolls his eyes, “Look, it’s better than the three seconds she tried to pronounce ‘Mousesack’, okay? Trust me on that.” He polishes off the last of his pizza, washing it down with a mouthful of Sprite. “Besides, if you raced out here on the tail end of a fight like I’m assuming you did, I’d like to clear up my name－make sure he knows I’m not trying to steal his gorgeous boyfriend out from under him.”

Geralt’s brain promptly proceeds to short-circuit, trying to figure out which part of that sentence he should refute first. He’s  _ not _ gorgeous, and he doesn’t know why people keep calling him that. But also, Mousesack is the  _ last _ person you’d have to worry about breaking up a happy relationship. “Hmm.”

“Yes, exactly.  _ Hmm _ .” Mousesack is grinning broadly, “Now tell me, on a scale of cheesecake to decadent triple chocolate fudge cake… how badly did you fuck up, Geralt-dear?”

Geralt purses his lips, looking ready to defend himself… before sighing, shoulders slumping forward in defeat. “This might be a… two slices of decadent triple chocolate fudge cake sort of fight.”

Mousesack doesn’t look surprised, but he still has to get one last, “...Oh boy,” in there for good measure.

* * *

It had occurred to Jaskier, about thirty minutes after Geralt stormed off to go attend his little ‘date’, that he would  _ have _ to wait up－whether Geralt liked it or not－because Geralt had raced off  _ without the goddamned room key _ . Because  _ of course _ he would. The bastard hadn’t even had the common courtesy to  _ text _ him and let him know that he’d arrived at wherever the hell he was going in one piece. He’d left Jaskier here to wallow in every last possible what-if, and damn it all, he’s not just going to let that slide. Not even if Geralt lays it on thick with the puppy-dog eyes. He’s going to stay awake for just long enough to let him back into the hotel room (he’s pissed, but he isn’t cruel), and then he’s going the fuck to sleep. And Geralt can do whatever the fuck he wants.

He didn’t expect to open the door to find not one, but  _ three _ people waiting on the other side. A little girl with long blonde hair and big blue eyes is staring at him, awe-struck, whilst yanking on Geralt’s hand with a bit more force than necessary. She’s speaking so fast that it’s difficult to discern what it is that she’s saying exactly, but he thinks that she’s expressing her awe that Geralt managed to land someone so  _ pretty _ . Geralt is allowing her to swing his arm like a fucking  _ jump-rope _ －which is adorable and terrifying all at once, what the hell－and there’s a sheepish grin on his face as he thrusts of bag bearing the logo of a local pizza parlor into his chest. He tries to ask, but Geralt just grunts, and that’s when he sees…

“Oooh,  _ Geralt _ ,” a young man claps a hand onto Geralt’s shoulder, “How the hell did  _ you _ manage to land  _ this _ looker, huh? And where can I find one for myself?”

Geralt blushes, averts his gaze, and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like ‘he found me’, before thrusting the bag of food at Jaskier again. “I know you haven’t eaten anything substantial since Starbucks, so… consider this an apology for… everything that happened earlier.” He mumbles. “I know how much you like chocolate－,”

Jaskier yanks the bag out of his hand with a bit more force than necessary, “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

Geralt raises a brow, “But you’re going to eat it, right?”

Jaskier huffs, as if the question offended him to his very core. “You were the one who upset me. The chocolate didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t see why it should be punished.” And okay, that sentence made absolutely  _ no _ sense whatsoever, but as long as Jaskier intended to eat, he wasn’t about to push.

The little girl bounces to his side, excited. “What’s your name, mister?”

“‘ulian.” Jaskier says, somehow already managing to stuff himself with a mouthful of cake. “But you can call me Jaskier.” The little one makes a noble effort, but trips horribly over the syllables in his name.

“You landed a real fiesty one, didn’t you, Geralt?” Mousesack laughs, and for the first time, Jaskier seems to really  _ see _ the man that’s there, standing alongside his boyfriend.

He’s handsome. Not necessarily in a conventional way, but handsome nonetheless. He has a head full of long, dark hair, which ends in thick, tight curls along the nape of his neck. His beard is almost bushy, and is a few shades darker than his hair, with a few strands of gray interwoven near the chin. He’s clearly a few years older than them, but he doesn’t think that the age difference is significant. He’s wearing a baggy white t-shirt, pale blue jeans, and sneakers that have clearly seen better days. Jaskier sees so much of Geralt in this man, it’s almost frightening… Usually, it is difficult to befriend someone that is so like yourself, but they’re clearly incredibly close. This person… what is his name again? Had Geralt even bothered to  _ tell _ him his name? 

Mousesack seems to understand what it is that he’s after, introducing himself as, “Ermion. But most people call me Mousesack, so that’ll do just fine.” 

“...Mousesack?” Okay, he knows that his own nickname is a little on the unusual side, but  _ Mousesack _ is on an entirely different level. He kind of wants to know the story behind it, and he also kind of wants to kick everyone out of the hotel room－including his boyfriend. He knew how pissed off, how  _ hurt _ Jaskier was when he left, and he brought  _ company _ back with him?  _ What the fuck _ ?

“It’s a long story.” He says, able to read the questions lingering in Jaskier’s gaze. “Look, I know that the two of you probably have a lot to talk about, but I wanted to make sure this idiot came back to you in one piece. And to clear the air of any nastiness between us.”

Jaskier furrows his brows, “...Nastiness? I’m afraid that I don’t know what you mean－,”

“I’m sure you’ve realized by now that Geralt here isn’t the best with words.” Jaskier snorts－that had to be the goddamned understatement of the century. “But I’ve known him since we were three. We used to be next door neighbors, before my mom moved my siblings and I to the city.” He says, “I know him  _ very _ well. And it’s plain as day how much he loves you.”

Geralt grumbles, blushing a vibrant red and pushing past Jaskier to go lock himself in the bathroom to sulk out his budding embarrassment. Jaskier watches him go, before spluttering, “I mean… I  _ know _ that. Of course I know he loves me. He’s told me as much, several times.”

“Hmm,” Mousesack nods. “But did you know he was so upset about your little fight earlier, he could barely choke down his pizza. He was too busy trying not to burst into tears.” Alright, that may’ve been a bit of an exaggeration, but it seems to pull on Jaskier’s heart-strings enough to make him stop looking like he’s ready to claim Geralt’s head. And that’s a decent start.

Jaskier makes a sound, not unlike a whimper, “I’ll… talk to him. Provided he’s cooled down enough that he won’t try coming for my head as soon as I open my mouth.” Cornflower blue eyes flit nervously to the bathroom.

The little girl pipes in with, “He won’t, I promise! I taught him lots about how important it is to communicate in a relationship.” Jaskier raises a brow－what the hell had happened at this dinner? 

He smiles a little, patting the little girl on the head whilst literally  _ shoveling _ more of the cake into his mouth. Geralt knew him too well－the way to his heart was definitely through his stomach. “Well, thank you very much for that.”

“Seriously, though. I wanted to tell you that I’m definitely not a threat to,” he gestures vaguely between the bathroom, where Geralt had retreated, and Jaskier, “ _ all of this _ . We’re just friends.” 

“Okay.” Jaskier says, unwilling to admit how much better he feels hearing that from a man he barely even knows. 

“Good,” and then Mousesack grins, “C’mon Ciri, these two have some  _ making up _ to do.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, before taking the little girl’s hand and shepherding her out of the room. She waves at Jaskier dramatically on the way out, wishing him luck in ‘making up’－now it’s Jaskier’s turn to blush like mad as he waves at the little girl and tries to keep his facial expression as neutral as possible. From the way that Mousesack’s laughter increases dramatically in volume, he is absolutely certain that he’s failed in that endeavor. Quickly shutting and locking the door behind them, he takes another bite of chocolate cake to steel his nerves for the inevitable confrontation, takes a deep breath, and makes his way over to the bathroom. He knocks on the door, just in case Geralt is doing something  _ private _ and he ought to wait…

The door swings open just as he reaches for the knob, and Geralt stands on the other side, his eyes heavy and his brows furrowed. Jaskier already knows that the situation is bad－there’s a lit cigarette dangling from between Geralt’s full lips, and the other smokes so infrequently it actually takes him a moment for his brain to process the scene in front of him. Jaskier is still angry. He realizes this as he looks into Geralt’s tired eyes and remembers how coldly he’d glared at him just a few short hours ago. No, angry isn’t the right word for it. He’s  _ hurt _ . He’s hurt because sometimes, it seems like he’s the only one who cares. Like the fact that he wants his boyfriend to be happy is some sort of  _ burden _ . Like maybe something about  _ them _ isn’t clicking in quite the way that is  _ should _ , and－

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, and a bit muffled by the presence of the cigarette dangling between his lips, but Jaskier hears them nonetheless. His eyes widen a bit, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“I’m sorry, too.” He says, and he means it. He  _ is _ sorry－he never meant for this weekend to turn into  _ this _ . And yet, he cannot stop himself from adding, “We still need to talk about what happened, though. It doesn’t have to be tonight, but fuck, Geralt, you really hurt me－,”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, as they’re so easily misinterpreted by the still-emotionally fragile teen. He reaches out, clasping Jaskier’s thin wrists so very tight, “Let me see your back.”

“What?” He frowns, “Geralt, what’re you talking about－,”

“Your back hit the towel rack earlier, didn’t it? You might have a bruise, or… or  _ worse _ . Let me look at it.”

Jaskier blinks slowly, “I was actually referring to an emotional sort of pain.” He says, “I… When you left, my whole chest started hurting and I didn’t know how to make it better and you didn’t even text me to let me know where you were and I…” he draws in a deep, shaky breath, “The idea of going back to being absolutely nothing to you makes me physically ill, Geralt. I can’t… I can’t do it.”

That being said… he still allows Geralt to maneuver him onto the bed, gently resting him on his belly so that he can peel off his shirt and have unadulterated access to his back. “It sounds like you had a panic attack.” Geralt whispers, regret coloring his tone. “...I’m sorry. I never should’ve left you like that.”

“We can agree on that, at least.” Jaskier says brokenly.

Geralt’s calloused fingers ghost across his back in a gentle caress, “You’re not bruised, at least. That’s good.”

“I told you.” The smaller teen huffs.

“Sorry. Sometimes I just need to see for myself.”

They stay like that for a minute, until Geralt stubs the cigarette out into a makeshift ashtray and Jaskier rolls them over so that they’re both lying on their sides, belly to belly. He leans forward, capturing Geralt’s lips in a tentative kiss. He has an inkling that Geralt is going to be skittish for a little while, even know that they’ve apologized, and he can’t blame him. It’s difficult to set things to rights after a major fight… especially when this is one of the first you’ve ever had. But he wants to make this work, wants to  _ help _ Geralt in any way that he can. Geralt draws in a deep, shaky breath, and tentatively bundles Jaskier in his arms, drawing him close. Neither are particularly tired, but it can’t hurt to rest awhile. After all, they still have all of Saturday and Sunday to enjoy New York.

“Now,” Jaskier says, allowing himself to smile, if only slightly, “Are you going to share this chocolate cake with me, or are you planning on sitting there and watching me go into a diabetic coma from the overload of sugar?”

Geralt looks ready to protest, until it becomes clear that Jaskier intends to feed him. He averts his gaze, nodding slightly… “I guess a few bites won’t hurt.”


	9. #WetDream

Geralt blinks lazily, not quite awake and unsure as to when, exactly, he’d fallen asleep. Jaskier is still cuddled up in his arms, the younger teen’s face buried in the crook of his neck and an arm and a leg casually strewn across his body… Jaskier is far from heavy, but his weight is pleasant, draped across Geralt’s body as it is. 

He’s not exactly tired, but he finds that he wouldn’t mind sleeping a little while longer. 

Just as his eyes flutter closed once more, Jaskier makes a small, distressed little sound in the back of his throat. Geralt’s eyes snap open, the pleasant haze that had overtaken his brain lifting. He turns his gaze to Jaskier, whose pretty face is creased with lines of… distress? Fear?  _ Pain _ ? He’s not sure, but as long, thin fingers dig deep into his side, a soft  _ hiss _ of something that sounds vaguely like his name spilling over swollen lips, he thinks that Jaskier might be having a nightmare. Geralt reaches up to tuck sweat-slick strands of chocolate hair behind Jaskier’s ear, his boyfriend’s name on the tip of his tongue, when…  _ Oh _ .

Jaskier rolls his hips, a soft, choked-off whimper echoing in the silence of their hotel room as the soft cotton of his pajama bottoms drags along his aching cock. Is he…  _ He’s having a wet dream _ . Geralt’s eyes widen a bit as Jaskier shifts in his sleep, shifting his hips into a slightly more gratifying position and… Jaskier’s cockhead is wet and leaking, the soft, off-white fabric of his pants practically translucent with pre, and he can feel it begin to soak into the side of his pant-leg. He’s breathing hard, clearly desperate to bring Geralt just that little bit closer. And Geralt is more than happy to let himself be had, to leave Jaskier to his dreamland for just a moment longer…

“Mmm…” blue eyes flutter open slowly, swollen from sleep and hazy with lust. It takes him a moment to meet Geralt’s gaze, and another to realize his hips are still rolling against Geralt’s thigh. “Hey there.”

Geralt swallows hard. The inside of his mouth tastes of chalk, and his throat suddenly aches. “...Hi.”

Jaskier yawns, stretching slowly… the hem of his t-shirt rides up, revealing a hint of creamy white skin. “I was having such a  _ nice _ dream.” He pouts, “You were feeling extraordinarily generous.”

The silver-haired teen raises a brow, “Was I now?”

His boyfriend reaches up, curls his fingers underneath his chin and strokes his thumb over the soft swell of Geralt’s lips. “You have a poisonous tongue, darling.” He purrs, his thumb dipping between his lips to smooth over his tongue. “But I can’t say that I mind, considering that I alone am privy to its more…  _ pleasurable _ uses.”

“Oh?” He nips, gently, at the pad of Jaskier’s thumb, before dragging his tongue over the calloused flesh to soothe the slight ache. “Care to share with the class?”

Jaskier’s lips quirk, “Gladly.”

Jaskier makes quick work of his pajama bottoms, before guiding Geralt so that the larger teen is laying flat on his back. Geralt is pliant in his hands, his amber eyes wide and trusting. Jaskier grins down at him, capturing his lips in a quick, gentle kiss, before moving to straddle Geralt’s head. It takes a bit of adjusting to ensure that Geralt can still breathe and that Jaskier can hold the position indefinitely, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when those massive arms curl tight around his thighs, dragging him down until… a hot, probing tongue begins to tease lazy circles around his entrance, loosening the taut ring of muscle until…

Bright, white light flashes behind Jaskier’s eyes as Geralt’s tongue eases its way inside him. He’s so unbelievably  _ wet _ －with each sharp stab of his tongue, he can feel Geralt’s saliva dripping down his cheeks, down his thighs… He can feel the rough drag of two-day old stubble against the tender flesh of his perineum, and the thought of being unable to sit properly for  _ days _ because of beard burn somehow makes him that much hotter. Because  _ everything _ about Geralt is glorious－his boyfriend loves to bring him to the very peaks of pleasure, and if it causes him a bit of discomfort after the fact, well… Geralt makes an absolutely  _ fabulous _ nurse-maid.

He tangles his fingers in Geralt’s mop of silver-white hair, dozens of mindless words spilling over his tongue as that tongue works him open nice and slow. He rocks his hips back against Geralt’s face hard enough to hear the box spring  _ creak _ , wanting,  _ needing _ more. If they were to re-enact his dream, then Geralt would flip them over and have his way with him, under-prepped as he is. But, as hot as that would be, he has something a bit different in mind. He revels in the feel of Geralt’s tongue in him a moment longer, the wet slide of the muscle pressing, probing at his spasming walls… Fuck all, he’s close. Too close. That had certainly been one hell of a dream.

He raises his hips before Geralt can bring him off, his thighs quaking with the effort it takes to resist eagerly taking what he needs… what Geralt is so willing to give. “I have something else in mind for you, darling.” He says, before smacking Geralt’s thigh. “Strip.” 

Geralt undresses rather inelegantly, but he’s naked soon enough, and Jaskier couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful sight. “...Jaskier.” He breathes, looking to the other for direction.

“If you’re up to it,” Jaskier begins, no judgment in his tone, “I would like to fuck you. I know that it’s been awhile, and that certain… recent events may have you uncomfortable with the idea, so say the world and we’ll do something else. I want you to be－,”

Geralt rolls his amber eyes, “Jesus, you weren’t even this verbose when you took my virginity.”

Jaskier’s left eye twitches, just a bit, “To be fair, I didn’t  _ know _ that you were a virgin. You weren’t exactly screaming it from the rooftops at the time－,”

“Is that something that people normally do?” He looks confused. 

“I…” How the hell had they gotten into this mess again? Ah, yes－because it’s virtually impossible, even after being friends for almost six years and dating for near three, to tell if Geralt is being a sarcastic SOB or if he genuinely doesn’t know something. Jaskier sighs, “Do you want to get fucked or what?”

The silver-haired teen snickers, “So romantic…” He takes Jaskier’s hand and drags him back toward the bed, “Let’s just say… I definitely wouldn’t be opposed.” 

The bed creaks softly as Geralt lays down on his back, his silver hair pooling around his head like a halo. Jaskier settles between his legs, his leaking cock brushing against Geralt’s half-hard length as he bends down to press their lips together in a surprisingly gentle kiss. Geralt moans, hands rising to tangle his fingers in Jaskier’s sweat damp hair, his hips rolling in slow,  _ slow _ circles as their cocks glide against one another messily. Breathless, he breaks the kiss, leaning back just far enough to nip along the sharp line of Geralt’s jaw, leaving a trail of just barely visible love bites amidst the sea of stubble. 

His hands trail over Geralt’s sculpted chest, short, blunt fingernails leaving thin lines of red along lightly tanned flesh. He pauses in his trek just long enough to flick Geralt’s left nipple, sending a surge of sharp pleasure-pain radiating throughout Geralt’s body. His boyfriend  _ howls _ , but the sound cuts off abruptly, and when he stops nipping at the long, delicate column of his throat long enough to look at his face, he sees that the other is chomping down on his bottom lip hard enough to bruise. And that just won’t do. His boyfriend makes the prettiest sounds when splayed out underneath him, his body writhing in pleasure. He wants to  _ hear _ him. 

Jaskier breaks away to reach into his carry-on, which is strewn haphazardly over the bedside table. Color rises in Geralt’s cheeks when he sees the extra-large bottle of warming lubricant Jaskier had packed for the trip－just how much sex did he think they’d be having? “You, uh… certainly came prepared.”

Jaskier licks his lips, “Always.” He spreads Geralt’s legs, resting the right leg on his shoulder, and takes a moment to admire his tight little pucker. Then he drizzles so much lube on his ass, his skin starts to  _ tingle _ .

The first finger slides in easy, just like always. Geralt is completely relaxed underneath him, luxuriating in the feel of his lips gliding along the inside of his leg… of the fingers of his free hand curling lazily in his chest hair, tugging ever so slightly… Ordinarily, Jaskier’s gaze would be fixated between Geralt’s thighs, watching as Geralt’s tight little pucker greedily swallowed his fingers, always so ready and willing and able to take more, more,  _ more _ . But now, he’s focused entirely on Geralt’s face. He’s so fucking  _ beautiful _ … His amber eyes are heavy with lust, the soft flush to his skin accentuated by a light sheen of sweat… He looks positively  _ radiant _ in the lowlight of the hotel room.

His second finger slides inside with a wet  _ squelch _ , spreading the warming lube along his trembling walls. Geralt is already breathing hard, his cock hard and leaking against his belly… He reaches up, loosens Jaskier’s grip on his chest hair so that he can twine their fingers together, and something in Jaskier’s chest goes tight and  _ bursts  _ at the sweet little smile on his face. He scissors his fingers nice and slow, feeling the tight,  _ tight _ muscles relax around him… How is he still so tight, after all this time? He’s certainly not a blushing virgin any longer. Fuck, he was  _ never _ a blushing virgin… the blushing had come later. 

Geralt squeezes his hand, rasping for more, and Jaskier is happy to oblige. He shifts them, just a bit, withdrawing his fingers long enough to drizzle a bit more lube between his spread cheeks. Geralt sucks in a shaky breath as three fingers swirl around his winking channel, pushing inside him slow and steady. The calloused pads of his fingers nudge at his prostate, massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves until Geralt’s back is arched in such a delicious curve it almost looks unnatural. A flurry of incoherent sounds fall from his lips as he bucks against Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier lets him ride his fingers until… 

“Oh, did you think I was going to let you cum?” He purrs, withdrawing his fingers seconds before Geralt could tumble over the edge. Geralt actually  _ whines _ , tears pearling in the corners of his eyes as Jaskier slicks his cock and spreads his legs just a little bit wider. “You ready for me, baby boy?”

“Mmm…  _ Please _ , Jaskier.” He curls his left leg around Jaskier’s slim hips, dragging him closer. “Fuck me,  _ fuck me _ , please…” the head of his cock probes that tight ring of muscle, providing a light, teasing pressure.  _ So good _ .

“Hnn… well, shit. How can I say no when you ask me so prettily?” Jaskier’s hips rock forward, and there’s a moment of intense pressure before the head of his cock slips inside his wet, velvety heat with a  _ pop _ . Geralt’s groan of relief is so  _ loud _ he almost doesn’t hear… is Geralt’s fucking phone ringing? “Geralt. Geralt, is that your phone?”

Geralt looks at him like he’s gone and grown a second head, “...Are you  _ really _ concerned about that right now?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, “Isn’t that Eskel’s ringtone? I don’t think he’s ever actually  _ called _ you before.”

“He  _ doesn’t _ call. Because he knows that I don’t answer phone calls. If it’s important, you have a better chance of me responding if you text me.” He says, He rocks his hips back, forcing Jaskier’s cock that little bit deeper. Jaskier groans like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, giving a few weak, shallow thrusts.

“...Wouldn’t that imply that the call is even more important?” He wheezes, “‘Cause, you know, he doesn’t call?”

Geralt lets out a long-suffering sigh, “Do you  _ want _ me to answer the call?” Another thrust of his hips, and Jaskier is fully seated inside of him, his cock like a heavy and hot iron bar spearing him open…

Jaskier rolls his eyes, “Not particularly.”

“Then why are we still talking about it?”

Jaskier grips his thigh, pressing his leg back toward his chest to open him up further, and starts to thrust. He rolls his hips, rocking in at a few different angles before… Geralt groans, squeezing his hand so hard that it almost  _ hurts _ , his back arching and his hips rocking back to meet every sharp thrust. That damned phone continues to ring in the background… He’s fairly certain he shouldn’t bring it up again, though, for fear of Geralt somehow managing to break his dick. The bed creaks with the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming into the wall hard enough that they’ll likely receive noise complaints, But he doesn’t care,  _ can’t _ care, when Geralt is gripping his cock like that…

Geralt cums first, Jaskier makes sure of it. With a soft hitch of his breath, he paints his belly in long lines of white, clamping down  _ hard _ on Jaskier’s throbbing cock and sending him tumbling over the edge as well. He spills inside of him, and for a few blissful moments he feels just the right side of full. And then the damned phone starts ringing again, and he wonders what would happen if he put it in a blender. Just for a little while. ...It’d probably find a way to be even more annoying with a shattered screen and something like half-functionality.  _ Ugh _ . Jaskier pulls out of him gently, and then… He shivers as slick and cum begin to ooze out of his channel to pool on the bedclothes…

Jaskier snorts, “I’ll be back in a sec with a washcloth, okay? In the meantime, you might want to consider answering him before he sends out a search party.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes, but gingerly begins moving toward his pants to retrieve his phone. _Whatever_ _this is about better be fucking important_ …

* * *

When Jaskier emerges from the bathroom, he catches the tail end of their conversation, “...alright. Yeah, I’m gonna be out of state until Monday, so… Mhmm, right… Try to keep him from doing anything stupid…  _ Stupider _ … We don’t even know how bad it is yet, so… Oh.  _ Oh _ .” 

Jaskier doesn’t need to know who or what they’re talking about to know that the situation is very much Not Good. His boyfriend looks like Roach ‘ran away’ again, and he sets the cool washcloth down on the foot of the bed, situating himself between Geralt’s legs again to rub soothing circles along the sharp lines of his hipbones. Geralt mouths the word ‘Lambert’ and Jaskier nods, immediately understanding. Of course Eskel would be calling about Lambert. Even though Lambert is only a year younger than Geralt and Eskel, he’s like that little boy on the playground picking fights with kids three times his size－Geralt and Eskel are always bailing him out when he finds himself in too deep. 

Lambert had calmed down somewhat when Aiden had transferred to their district, and the two had danced around each other for  _ months _ (well, that wasn’t exactly true－Aiden had been very upfront about his feelings for Lambert, and Lambert had resisted him every step of the way until one day he just…  _ caved _ ) before they started dating. And they were  _ adorable _ together… even if Lambert couldn’t come out and actually admit that they were together. Kind of like another stubborn idiot that he knows… who’s currently still sitting in a puddle of their combined spend. Oof, he should probably get on with cleaning that… but he doesn’t want to, you know, just  _ go _ for it while Geralt is on the phone. He does have  _ some _ kind of self-preservation instinct, thank you.

Geralt ends the call a few minutes later, sighing. “...Well, shit.” 

Jaskier presses a kiss to his forehead, “That bad, huh?” He takes the washcloth again, slowly, carefully swiping it along the curve of his ass, cleaning away the drying seed splattered across his skin.

“Mmm… it’s certainly not good.” He sighs, “It’s… fuck, if it’s not one thing, it’s twenty others. Is it really so much to ask to have  _ one _ fucking weekend where nothing goes to shit? Where I can just relax without having to worry about my mom flipping out, or Lambert getting himself locked the fuck up, or－,”

Jaskier’s eyes widen, “ _ Lambert is in jail _ ?!”

Geralt closes his eyes, “I swear to Christ, this is why I don’t fucking talk.” And okay, that hurt a little bit, but he knew that Geralt didn’t mean it offensively. They both were still terrified of pressing too hard and causing another fight. “Yes, Lambert is in jail. Aiden’s in the hospital, and Karadin has a dislocated jaw.” 

“ _ Jesus _ , what the fuck happened?” Geralt grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like  _ that’s what I’d like to know _ , and then, “I’m going to go ahead and assume that Lambert dislocated Karadin’s jaw, and is locked up on charges of aggravated assault.” 

“Hmm,” alright, that’s a yes. Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to sigh. 

“And there’s no way that it was self-defense?” He knows that the odds are nearly infinitesimal, but dammit, it’s worth a shot. 

“I doubt it.”

Jaskier snuggles down beside him, brushing hair out from in front of Geralt’s face, “We can go back, if you want. I know that we were both looking forward to this little getaway, but if you’re needed elsewhere then we can do this again later. Maybe after graduation, when things have calmed down a little bit－,”

“Would you think less of me if I told you that I really didn’t want to go back?” Geralt whispers softly. “I love Lambert. I do. But I can’t… Until we find out about Aiden’s condition, he’s just going to keep doing  _ stupid _ shit and… a-and…” He trails off miserably, allowing Jaskier to bundle him up in his arms. 

“They’re your feelings, Ger-Bear. No matter what, they can’t be wrong.” Jaskier counters. “At least behind bars, he can’t do anything  _ worse _ , right?” Geralt hums softly, “It’s not selfish, or wrong, or… or… You want what’s best for him, and right now that’s to be in a space where he can’t hurt himself, or anyone else.”

Geralt swallows hard, “...Yeah.”

It takes awhile for Geralt to be willing to do anything, and a little while longer for him to be in the right frame of mind to face anyone outside of the little safe haven that is their hotel room. But that’s okay, because he actually  _ spoke _ to Jaskier… he told him what was wrong and he accepted comfort when it was offered. How could Jaskier ask for, or reasonably expect, anything more? When he’s ready, they decide to head out to the Theatre Development Fund’s TKTS booth out in Father Duffy Square, to try and snag discounted tickets to a show later that day. They ended up with extremely reasonably priced tickets for  _ The Phantom of the Opera _ (Jaskier is obsessed with the show, not because of the tragic love story, or the haunting music, or anything of the sort…

No, his darling boyfriend has it  _ bad _ for Raoul, the one character in the entire production who has about as much personality as a tall glass of ice water. And he knows that he’ll be in for sixteen and a half hours of running commentary on the character on the way back home－Jaskier will be too star-struck during intermission to do much more than blink a few times and make a few faint gurgling sounds to let Geralt know that he’s still alive.)

The show is excellent, of course. He isn’t expecting anything less－this  _ is _ Broadway, after all. But he’s not a connoisseur of theatre in the same way that Jaskier is. He can appreciate the hours of hard work that went into making such a fantastic production, but he’s not interested in going through it, act by act, song by song, and analyzing every last moment as he picks it apart with a fine-tuned comb. He leaves that business to Jaskier as they stand in line for… something or other, he’s not actually sure. It seems that you can’t breathe in this city without winding up in a line or some sort, which is all well and good except for the fact that it means there are  _ a lot _ of people  _ everywhere _ and it’s starting to make him a bit… uneasy.

He goes to reach for Jaskier’s hand, to squeeze it twice in a way that’ll tell Jaskier they need to leave without Geralt having to find a way to force the words… but then he remembers the conversation in the car. How disappointed he’d been about not being able to go to prom with Geralt, because his social anxiety would make him absolutely miserable in such a large crowd and… Jaskier turns to him, smiling bright as the sun, and asks if he’d like something from the souvenir counter. Geralt takes a deep, shaky breath and tells him to pick out something he thinks that he’ll like. Jaskier ends up spending far too much money and Geralt can actually hear his pulse thundering in his ears when Jaskier suggests they go out for dinner. 

Half an hour later, they’re sitting in a tiny ramen shop with tables far too close together and voices, so many goddamned  _ voices _ he can’t hear himself think. “Y’know, with how much ramen you eat on a daily basis, I wasn’t really expecting you to choose a ramen shop for dinner…”

Geralt shrugs, “I mean… at least this way, I know it’ll sit okay with my stomach.” Is it normal for anxiety and stress to fuck someone’s stomach up this badly?  _ Probably not _ , he thinks with a sigh.

“My mom makes some really awesome authentic beef ramen.” Jaskier says, absently scanning over the menu. “I’m sure that she’d be thrilled to make it for you, especially if she knew that it would… y’know… actually get you to eat something more substantial than a Naked smoothie.”

“Sorry.” He says, apologizing before Jaskier has even really finished his sentence. It’s an old defense mechanism he’d picked up from dealing with his mother－apologize early and often; you can always figure out what you’ve done wrong after the fact. 

And Jaskier, of course, sees right through it. “What the hell are you apologizing for? That I love you and don’t want to see you wasting away. Oh, the horror.” He rolls his eyes, “You don’t have to apologize to me, Geralt.”

Geralt cocks his head to the side, a strange expression on his face. “...I have to apologize to you for a number of things.” If he notices the way that Jaskier tenses, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Alright, well… that was unsettlingly ominous.” He laughs, but it sounds a bit hollow, “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me that you cheated on me or some shit.” 

The waiter comes to take their orders, thankfully bringing that awkward conversation to an abrupt end. Jaskier found himself pleasantly surprised with the amount of food that Geralt ordered, even if it still wasn’t on par with what he would have eaten once upon a time. The food arrives in record time, and Geralt makes a point of eating it all. He actually ends up a bit over-full, which seems to reinforce Jaskier’s earlier point that he hasn’t been eating enough. He should’ve been able to polish off  _ at least _ two bowls of ramen before he started to feel full. It’s… a little scary, how much he’s changed in the last few weeks. He hadn’t really noticed just how severe his diminished appetite had become… it’s no wonder that Jaskier’s been worried. 

“So…” he clears his throat awkwardly. He wants to talk to Jaskier, but he isn’t sure about  _ what _ . He’s still so worried they’ll end up fighting if he says or does the wrong thing… “How do you like the city? I mean, you’ll be living here after graduation, so…”

Jaskier cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips a bit in that way he so often does when he’s confused. “What do you mean? We’ll be living together, won’t we?” And sure, they hadn’t had the official talk yet, but it had always just kind of been assumed that Geralt would follow Jaskier to the ends of the world…

Like a puppy, trailing idly behind its master. He huffs softly, unsure if he should be amused or insulted by his own comparison… and unable to dislodge the tight knot of  _ panic _ in his chest at the thought of living in a city so  _ full _ of people for the next… what, three to four years? Something dark and cold begins to curl in his gut, and he has to remind himself to breathe, to  _ smile _ … He can’t let Jaskier know that the last thing he would ever want is to live in a place like New York. New York is Jaskier’s  _ dream _ . He’s busted his ass to make it into Julliard. Jaskier has already sacrificed so much… Geralt can do this for him. He can. And so he smiles and nods and lies through his teeth, and Jaskier is too eager to bask in the glorious thought of a future together, away from psychotic mothers and friends that are just a bit  _ too much _ …

His smile twitches a bit too much at the corner as he whispers, “I’m looking forward to it.”


	10. #TheRenfriIncident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING(s): Child Abuse, Discussions of Infidelity, Violence, Non-Graphic Depictions of a Panic Attack, etc. The tags have been updated accordingly. Please proceed with caution!!

Jaskier isn’t stupid. He knows that something is wrong－has  _ been _ wrong since Broadway－but he doesn’t know how to broach the topic. Geralt’s finished his food, which is absolutely wonderful, don’t misunderstand… but he seems so incredibly lethargic, like he’s just polished off a three-course, carbohydrate laden meal and not a bowl of ramen. Jaskier frowns, moving to settle the tab before Geralt even has a chance to see the total. 

“You know…” Jaskier drums his fingers on the table, “If you don’t want to come to New York with me, I’d understand.” Geralt winces, and Jaskier immediately regrets his poor choice in wording. “Fuck, that didn’t come out right. What I mean is… New York isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and you shouldn’t have to force yourself－,”

“I’m not…” Geralt draws in a deep, shaky breath, “I want… I want to be where you are.” He says brokenly. “I don’t… I can’t…” His left eye twitches, his mounting anxiety practically palpable. “Please don’t take that away from me.”

“Ger-Bear, sweetling, nobody is taking anything from you, okay?” Jaskier hurries to reassure. He takes Geralt’s hand and squeezes it tight, aware of how dangerously close he is to the brink of a full-on panic attack. “I just want this to be your choice, not something you feel you have to do out of obligation.”

Geralt’s voice suddenly becomes very soft as he mumbles, “But then… Where else would I go?”

Jaskier frowns, grazing his thumb along Geralt’s knuckles in a tender caress, “If you don’t want to come with me, I’ll help you find somewhere to go.” He says firmly. “All I want is for you to be happy. And yeah, it hurts a little that that might not happen with you next to me, but－,”

Geralt’s golden eyes widen, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me.” Jaskier corrects, “This whole fucked up situation is hurting me, because I have to stand aside and watch you suffer, watch you  _ hurt _ , and not be able to do a goddamned thing about it. The best I can do is offer you my hand… but that only helps if you choose to take it.”

The older teen gently attempts to free his hand, “Is this… Are we…?” 

“We’re not breaking up, Geralt. Even if you choose to not come with me after graduation… I’m not just going to leave you.” He coos, voice soft. “We’re just having a conversation.”

Geralt wheezes, “We seem to be having a lot of those lately.” He laughs brokenly, “I don’t like it.”

Jaskier gives him a gentle smile, “Why don’t we head back to the hotel room then? And I promise, no more big conversations for the rest of the weekend. The next time your phone rings, I’m chucking it out the window.”

That earns an actual laugh, “It’s only a matter of time until my mom has the service turned off, anyway.”

The walk back to their hotel is uneventful. He can tell that there is something else troubling Geralt, but… he’s said his piece. He’s offered Geralt his hand. He needs to trust that Geralt will reach out for it when he’s ready. Pressuring him into talking about something before he’s ready will just lead to another blow out fight, and he doesn’t think his heart can take another day like yesterday. That, and the ride up to New York had been awkward enough without everyone and their cousin ready to bite each other’s heads off. He doesn’t think that he’d be able to survive a sixteen and a half hour car ride while Geralt is angry with him. And he’d sooner  _ hitchhike _ home than air his dirty laundry in front of Yennefer. 

When they’re back in their room, he tosses a clean pair of pajamas Geralt’s way (it’s not quite time for bed yet, but he thinks that Geralt will appreciate being able to spend the balance of the night bumming in soft flannel that’s faded from one too many times in the washing machine, tucked safely away beneath a mountain of blankets in an insanely soft bed that puts even Jaskier’s custom made mattress to shame). His boyfriend, never one for shame, proceeds to strip in the middle of the room－not that it’s anything he hasn’t seen hundreds of times before, but it will never cease to amaze him how Geralt gives absolutely zero fucks about getting naked in front of  _ anyone _ －while Jaskier flips through the pay-per-view offerings to find them a movie to watch.

It’s really no surprise that they settle on  _ Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog _ . While he knows that it’s his boyfriend’s favorite movie, he still isn’t entirely sure why (and he’s confident hell will freeze over before Geralt gives him a straight answer one way or another). He likes the film well enough－Neil Patrick Harris has a remarkable range, and the film manages to pack just the right amount of humor and angst into forty-two minutes to leave him feeling like he’d just gotten off of a whirlwind rollercoaster ride. And Captain Hammer’s one-liner, “the hammer is my penis”? Absolute comedy gold. Geralt clambers into bed alongside him as Harris belts out the first lines to  _ My Freeze Ray _ , burying his face in Jaskier’s neck and inhaling slowly… deeply…

Jaskier snakes an arm around his middle, reaching down to offer the larger teen a few soft swats on the bum. Hey, if babies and cats like it, there’s no reason that Geralt won’t like it, too. “You okay, honey?”

Another deep breath, “Mmm… not exactly.” Jaskier has to force down the fear that blossoms in his chest at that－he reminds himself to think positively. At least Geralt is communicating his distress with him, instead of bottling it all up inside. “My chest hurts. Just a little bit. It’ll… It’ll pass.”

Jaskier frowns, “Is this still from our talk at the restaurant?” He asks. He tries to keep his tone light, even… but apparently he fails fantastically, because Geralt immediately tenses up again.

“...Maybe?” His voice is small, and Jaskier can’t help but wonder if Geralt’s hoping Jaskier didn’t actually hear what he said.  _ Baby steps, _ he reminds himself softly.  _ Baby steps _ .

“Thank you for telling me.” He says, and Geralt hums, his attention fixed on the television once more. Jaskier strokes Geralt’s back for a little while longer, then, “Do you think that an Ativan would help?”

“Hmm,” this, of course, loosely translates to: ‘yeah, it probably would, but I’m also incredibly comfortable and therefore disinclined to move’. He sighs, patting his butt a few more times, before shifting them so that Geralt is being swallowed in a sea of blankets.

As soon as Jaskier begins to pull away from him, he makes a distressed little sound that tears at Jaskier’s heart. “Shh… I’m just going to get your pills from your suitcase, okay? I’ll be back in thirty seconds. Less than.”

It takes closer to two minutes, because Geralt’s suitcase is a literal disaster zone, but he is eventually able to locate the bottle of pills and brings it, along with a bottle of soda from the mini-fridge, back over to Geralt. Geralt stares at the bottle for a long moment, and Jaskier sighs, taking out a pill and cutting it in half, before presenting it, and the bottle, to his boyfriend. Geralt takes both without a word, and settles back down into the sea of blankets… but he makes no move to cuddle back into Jaskier’s side. It’s… weird, to say the least, but Jaskier isn’t about to push. Geralt came very close to experiencing sensory overload earlier, and he’s been on quite the emotional rollercoaster this weekend. It may be best to just allow him some time to…  _ process _ things. 

* * *

They’re in Lambert’s apartment, which is odd for a number of reasons… mostly because, last he remembers, he was laying beside Geralt in their hotel room, watching the climax of  _ Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog _ . But it’s also weird because Lambert tries to spend the least amount of time in his apartment as possible, to avoid crossing paths with his father. He and his twin sister, Renfri, spend most of their time at Eskel’s place, bumming out in his garage. But no… this is definitely Lambert’s apartment. There’s too many empty bottles of liquor hanging around for it to be anywhere else he’d find himself willingly. But that still doesn’t explain  _ why _ he’s here. He and Lambert aren’t spectacularly close－the only reason he’d be at his apartment is if he came with Geralt, and－

Speaking of which, where is Geralt? He sees several of their other friends－Yennefer is over in the corner, sipping at a glass of punch that is  _ definitely _ not spiked; Triss and ( _ shudder _ ) Valdo are getting far too friendly with one another on the dance floor; Eskel is sprawled out on the couch, somehow managing to concentrate on a thickest book Jaskier has ever seen despite the fact that the bass from the stereo is reverberating so powerfully through the apartment, the  _ floor _ is vibrating. And Geralt is… He catches a glimpse of silvery-white hair out on the patio, and he slouches a bit in relief. Of course he wasn’t worried that Geralt had abandoned him or anything silly like that, but… parties were more fun when he knew that Geralt was enjoying them, too.

“Have you tried any of the cake? I made it myself.” Jaskier frowns. He hadn’t realized his boyfriend wasn’t alone out on the patio. He peers around the corner, catching a glimpse of dark, fiery red hair.

“‘m not really the biggest fan of sweets.” Geralt grumbles, stubbing out the cigarette that he’d bummed off of Jaskier earlier and taking a long swig of beer. “‘m sure that it’s good, though, considering that Lambert already shoved half of it down his gullet.” 

“Aww, c’mon. Just one little bite? I promise that it won’t kill you.” Renfri takes a plastic fork and uses it to break off a sizeable piece of cake, waggling the sweet in front of the older teen’s face suggestively. “Besides, you haven’t had a single bite to eat  _ all day _ … I can’t, in good conscience, let you keep drinking on an empty stomach.”

Something in the back of Jaskier’s head tells him that she should really announce himself, and yet… Geralt rolls his eyes, “If I do, will you leave me alone and go back to bothering your brother?”

_ “Maybe _ ,” she sing-songs, her smile widening, “Guess you’ll just have to take a bite and find out, huh?”

He sighs, “Fine.”

He opens his mouth wide, accepting the entire bite. There’s something about Renfri  _ feeding _ him that feels oddly intimate, and it makes Jaskier’s stomach twist uncomfortably. It should make him feel better that Geralt is only entertaining the idea in the hopes it’ll be enough to make her leave him the fuck alone, but unfortunately, his brain refuses to listen to reason. Jaskier takes a step forward, words lingering on the tip of his tongue… Renfri draws the fork back with a grin, pleased to see that he had, indeed, taken everything that she had to offer. But then, her eyes flicker to Geralt’s mouth. From where he’s standing, Jaskier can just barely make out the soft smudge of lavender upon his lips. Frosting. 

Renfri reaches out, swiping her thumb along Geralt’s bottom lip to clean up the stray icing… before she pops her thumb between her lips and  _ moans _ . Geralt looks like someone just sucker-punched him in the stomach, “What the hell are you－,”

“I didn’t know that you were such a  _ messy _ eater, Geralt.” Renfri smirks, pulling her thumb out of her mouth with a wet  _ pop _ . “Just look at the mess you made.” She leans in close,  _ too _ close, and Geralt isn’t pushing her away and Jaskier’s damned heart feels like it’s  _ dying _ and－

* * *

“Jaskier.  _ Jaskier _ !” He’s not exactly sure when he fell asleep, but he wakes to find Geralt looming over him, his golden eyes alight with concern, and the end credits of the movie rolling across the screen. Well, shit.

“Just… taking an unwanted stroll down memory lane.” Jaskier forces a smile, “Speaking of which… I know that, odds are, you－ _ we _ －will be spending a lot of time with Eskel when we get home. I know that this is a lot to ask, and I’m sorry for sounding super selfish while you’re still hurting－,”

Geralt blinks, “I’m… fine. A little tired, but the medicine is working. My chest feels much better.” 

“－And I’m really, really worried that you’re going to take this the wrong way. I need you to know that I trust you, one-hundred percent, and I know that you would never willingly hurt me. What happened at the twins’ birthday party was a fluke, and if I’d stayed put for another ten seconds I would’ve seen you shove her off－,”

Geralt sighs, “And… clearly you’re not listening to me  _ at all _ .” He leans back, allowing Jaskier the chance to talk himself out. Though he desperately wants to do everything within his power to make Jaskier feel better… sometimes it’s easier to get one’s point across once the initial panic has cleared. 

After what seems like a small eternity, Jaskier’s rambling concludes with, “...Please tell me you’re going to stay far away from Renfri. I feel really stupid for even asking, but…  _ please _ .”

The older teen frowns, “Why does it upset you so much? It’s not like you’re asking me for something particularly strenuous. I usually try to steer clear of Renfri, anyhow.” And then, “Why should you feel stupid about asking that?”

“Because Yennefer has literally been flirting with you, in front of my face, for years and I’ve just let it slide.”

“...She has?”

“Oh, please don’t－you’ve got to be kidding me right now. If Yenn were being anymore obvious about it, she’d say screw it and  _ climb you _ like a fucking tree.” Jaskier sighs, “The fact that this has been going on for over a  _ year _ and you never noticed does not bode well at  _ all _ , Ger-Bear.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth quirks up in what might’ve been the beginnings of a smile, “To be fair, I believe that I was so oblivious to your feelings that you actually  _ did _ climb me, with all the grace of a newborn fawn, in your living room,  _ while your mother was making dinner less than thirty feet away _ .”

Jaskier licks his lips, “Can you blame me? You were wearing those absolutely  _ delicious _ high-waisted pants－,”

“ _ All _ of my pants are high-waisted, Jaskier. And we’re getting side-tracked. We’re supposed to be talking about Renfri.” Geralt reminds him gently.

“Ah, yes. Right.” And then he flinches, “I distinctly remember promising you that we wouldn’t have to have anymore emotion-heavy talks this weekend. Fuck, I－We can wait to talk about this until we’re back home. I doubt it’s going to be a problem the second that we cross state lines.”

“We could,” Geralt shrugs, “Or we could talk about it now. It’s not… I don’t like to sit idly by when I know that you’re upset. This… We probably should’ve talked about this awhile ago. Or… talked about it more than we did.”

“...Yeah. Probably.” Jaskier sighs.

Jaskier does most of the talking, but that’s alright, because apparently he has a great deal that he needs to get off of his chest－and Geralt can’t fix what he doesn’t know is wrong. They’ve talked about what happened at Lambert and Renfri’s birthday party before, of course they had. Well, after Jaskier had made a point of steadfastly avoiding Geralt for a week, only to have Geralt fall off of the face of the earth (read: he’d been skipping school after another unfortunate… slip… down the stairs left him with a handful of broken ribs). And then, once he’d found out about Geralt’s injuries, he’d been so murderous that he hadn’t been in the right state of mind to talk about what had happened at the party anyhow. 

He knew that he’d overreacted… That it wasn’t good to jump to conclusions without at least hearing Geralt’s side of the story. But considering that, prior to Geralt, his only real experience with a serious relationship had ended… poorly (now isn’t that the understatement of the century), he had immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. He knew that that was unfair of him－that Geralt, and their relationship, deserved better. But it’s difficult, after enduring a certain kind of suffering for so long, to train your brain to see anything but. Which is why, even if it physically hurt him to accept, he understood why－or rather,  _ how _ －Geralt is still able to love Visenna as he does, knowing the hells that she’s put him through.

After Jaskier has finished airing his grievances, there’s a long moment of silence. Normally, this sort of thing would make Jaskier terribly uncomfortable－it’s difficult to bear your heart and soul to another, only to be met by silence in return. But this silence is… different, somehow. Geralt is often quiet when seriously mulling something over. It’s… hard for him to force his brain to multitask at times, especially when the matter at hand is particularly  _ delicate _ . Trying to focus on too much at once can cause him to panic, to act without thinking, and to unintentionally hurt himself and others. Jaskier knows this－and even if he didn’t, he still wouldn’t push; Geralt had given him time to collect his thoughts, to speak his mind, and the least he can do is return the favor. 

Finally, Geralt offers, “I… still have the keys to my apartment, and the lease isn’t up until the end of the month. I can ask Eskel to meet me there. We… he doesn’t know about what happened, so－,”

Jaskier frowns, “Ger-Bear, I… that’s not what… I’m not trying to send you back into that hellhole just to appease me.”

“I… Honestly, I’d been thinking about it ever since he called about Lambert. And Renfri won’t be a problem as long as we don’t meet at Eskel’s apartment, so I fail to see the problem here.”

“You…” Jaskier looks at him, heartbroken. “Geralt, there was hardly any furniture in that hellhole! I don’t know where you were sleeping, because there wasn’t a bed－hells, the fucking television set had been  _ hollowed out _ .” He snaps, “There’s no food, no heat, no electricity… Y-You can’t meet him there, no.”

Geralt stares at him blankly, as if he’s missing some sort of tremendously important fact. “Then what do you want me to do, Jaskier? Do you want me to ask you to let me meet with him at your house?” He asks, “Your mother barely tolerates Eskel on a good day, and she actually kicked Lambert out of your house.”

“...You can’t seriously tell me that you don’t think he had it coming.” Jaskier frowns. He remembers that incident well, and thinks that his mother had been awfully damn kind, considering. 

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Geralt lowers his eyes and begins picking at the blanket nervously, “I just… I’m having trouble understanding what it is that you want from me. You don’t want me to be around Renfri, that’s fine. No arguments there. But as soon as I try to make it better－,”

Jaskier takes hold of Geralt’s chin, tilting his head back so that he’s forced to look him in the eyes. “I know that that is what you think that you’re doing, Geralt, but… purposefully putting yourself into harms’ way isn’t going to make me feel better.” Jaskier says firmly, “Besides, I hate to be the one to have to remind you of this, but your mother is just waiting for you to come home. If you just walk in the front door like nothing’s happened…”

Geralt swallows hard, “I… I know that.”

“But do you?” Jaskier cannot help but push. “Because the very fact that you would even suggest it makes me question whether or not you do.” 

A sigh, “Just… tell me what you want me to do, then.”

Jaskier frowns. The fact of the matter is that Geralt is  _ right _ －Jaskier’s parents had been more than accomodating to Geralt because he’d been friends with Jaskier for going on six years, and had spent so much time under their roof during that time that he was like a second son to them. But Eskel and Lambert… just seem to leave a bad taste in his parents’ mouths. He isn’t sure why his mother doesn’t like Eskel; the other teen had always been incredibly polite whenever he came over, and wasn’t afraid to use a bit of…  _ brute force _ to help keep Lambert in line, either. And Lambert… to be fair, it wasn’t anything that  _ Lambert _ had done, specifically, that caused his parents’ ire. It was more a case of  _ guilt by association,  _ if you will.

His boyfriend, Aiden, had slashed the tires on Jaskier’s fathers’ Rolls-Royce, and had keyed an incredibly large, decidedly phallic-looking symbol on the front, driver’s side door. As it turned out, he’d just gone after the wrong car－the vehicle he’d  _ intended _ to deface had an almost identical license plate, just one number off of Jaskier’s father’s. That, of course, had hardly mattered when his father had almost lost his job because he’d been forced to drive into work with a monstrously oversized  _ cock _ carved into the side of his car. His father had pressed charges, Aiden’s older brother Karadin had foot the bill, and Aiden had come back to school with a bruised face and two missing teeth. And as soon as Mrs. Pankratz had found out there was any connection between Aiden and Lambert at  _ all _ , she’d, rather forcefully, kicked him to the curb. 

“Hells…” Jaskier sighs, “We’ll… smuggle him into my bedroom, alright? Tell him to come over Monday night, after my parents have already gone to sleep. He’ll have to scale the lattice and come in through the window, but if you could do it, I don’t see why he couldn’t.”

“You’d… risk your parents’ having an entirely preventable shit-fit, just to…” he doesn’t say it. He  _ can’t _ . He can’t help but feel that all of this is a bit extreme, just to keep him away from a girl he doesn’t actually care about. He values Jaskier’s feelings and he wants to keep him happy, of course he does, but… 

Jaskier won’t even tell his parents that they’re together, would go so far as to lie to them and concoct some wild story about how he’s dating Yennefer－yet he’d gladly risk everything just to keep him from going to Eskel’s apartment, on the off-chance that Renfri would be there, because he’s still upset about something that happened almost a year ago. Something that wasn’t even Geralt’s fault. And he knows, full-well, that he’s being ridiculous, getting this worked up over something so… well, it’s not trivial, but it’s certainly not earth-shattering either. He wants absolutely nothing to do with Renfri, and had hoped that he could prove that to Jaskier on his own terms. Even if his plan isn’t ideal, he honestly believes it better than risking pissing off two people who had given him so much, so selflessly－

But he also doesn’t want to fight, and he has a strong inkling that that is exactly what their little  _ talk _ is rapidly devolving into. And so he throws in the towel, and concedes, “Fine. I’ll text him tomorrow morning to let him know the details, alright?”

“Alright.” Jaskier smiles, nods. Then, “Now, c’mere. I can feel the tension radiating off of you from all the way over here, and I know just the thing to make it better－,”

“...I’m really not in the mood for more sex, Jaskier.” Nonetheless, he allows himself to be pulled into Jaskier’s side, burying his face in the crook of the smaller teen’s neck as he snuggles down into the warmth of his embrace. 

“No sex.” He promises, pressing a soft kiss to Geralt’s temple, before combing his fingers gently through the older teen’s hair. “Just some good old fashioned cuddles, yeah? I think…” he sighs, almost sounding wistful, and allows his eyes to slip closed, “I think that we’re both in desperate need of them.”


	11. #15weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING(s): Mentions of Child Abuse/Child Neglect, Weaponizing Sex, etc. The tags have been updated accordingly. Please proceed with caution!

From: Pain In My Ass :skull_and_crossbones:   
Have you seen this shit?   
Sent on Sunday, 5:43AM

From: Pain In My Ass :skull_and_crossbones:   
Wait… Geralt isn’t still friends with his mom on FB, is he?   
Sent on Sunday, 5:43AM

From: Pain In My Ass :skull_and_crossbones:   
Cause you might wanna do something about that shit before he wakes up.   
Sent on Sunday, 5:44AM

From: Pain In My Ass :skull_and_crossbones:   
Attachment   
[wth.jpeg]   
Sent on Sunday, 5:46AM

“...Geralt?” Jaskier blinks his tired blue eyes open to find his boyfriend already wide awake and watching him like a hawk. Which is absolutely not weird. At all. “I know that I’m gorgeous, first thing in the morning, but… is there any particular reason you’re staring at me like that?”

Geralt stares at him for a minute, considering. Then, “Your phone’s been ringing. Yenn’s trying to get ahold of you.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, before looking to the little LED alarm clock on the nightstand. “We still have  _ several _ hours before we’re supposed to pick her up. Forgive me if I’m tempted to…  _ ignore _ her until then.”

“You should know better than anybody that Yennefer won’t stand for being ignored.” Geralt says.

Jaskier frowns, “You could let a man dream.”

Geralt’s answer is to lightly, but insistently, shove Jaskier’s phone into his chest. With a put-upon sigh, Jaskier unlocks the screen and delves into his messages, reading over the first three that Yennefer had sent him with ever-mounting alarm. He didn’t actually know whether or not Geralt was friends with Visenna on Facebook, but that seemed like the sort of thing he  _ should _ know, given the circumstances (and how adamant Geralt had been about him blocking her number on the way up to New York). But surely, she couldn’t have posted anything so horrible that it could be worse than that bullshit she’d sent him on the way up here… right? 

Against his better judgement, he opens the attachment and feels his blood run cold. It’s a fucking  _ ultrasound _ , with the caption #15weeks in an obnoxious, glittery pink font. Geralt’s mother is… oh lord, he thinks that he’s going to be sick. Geralt, who’d been nestling back down into his side, fully prepared to catch another hour or two of sleep before Jaskier suggested they head into the city for breakfast, feels Jaskier tense beside him and peers over his shoulder curiously. Jaskier locks his phone as fast as physically possible, before tossing it far, far away from the bed. Because that’s absolutely not suspicious at all. Geralt says as much.

Jaskier swallows hard, licking his lips as he allows his eyes to rake over Geralt’s sleepy, disheveled form. “You want me to suck you off?” 

“Umm…” Geralt looks honestly taken aback for a moment, “I mean, I was kinda planning on going back to sleep, seeing as it’s the weekend and the  _ sun _ isn’t even up yet. And I kinda figured that you would want to, too, considering how much of a bitch you can be if you don’t get your beauty sleep－,”

Jaskier huffs, looking ready to comment on Geralt’s choice of words, when his phone buzzes in the corner. It’s Yennefer,  _ again _ . “Ignore that.” He says, trailing a hand over Geralt’s chest, “And that wasn’t a  _ no _ .”

“You’re insatiable.” Now it’s Geralt’s turn to roll his amber eyes.

“I mean,  _ yes _ . I’m an eighteen-year-old boy. It’s kind of par for the course.” 

“You’re far too energetic for this early in the morning.” Geralt eyes him with open suspicion, “What did－or, I guess,  _ does _ －Yenn want, anyway? And why does she seem to have a thing about texting you at all hours of the morning?”

“You could fuck me.” Jaskier completely bypasses Geralt’s question, wiggling about in the bed so that he’s sitting up straight and looming over Geralt’s form. Geralt raises one thick, silver brow, but makes no move to take him up on his offer. “Or… I could fuck you.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Now I feel like you’re trying to hide something from me.” 

“Not at all.” Jaskier purrs. With all the grace of a cat, he slithers out from underneath the blankets and plants himself astride Geralt’s lean hips. “I just… have a bit of a morning  _ problem _ that I’d like to take care of.”

He rolls his hips against Geralt’s, his full, pouty lips curling into a slight smirk when Geralt’s amber eyes widen at the press of his cock into the firm meat of his thigh. Apparently, his gorgeous boyfriend had thought that he had been lying about his morning wood－which was, admittedly, fair. It’s not that he was lying, but more than he was using it as a convenient scapegoat in order to change the direction of the conversation away from texts that his sleep-addled brain didn’t have the power to deal with. Visenna wasn’t even capable of taking care of  _ one _ child. Just the thought of another child having to endure the hell that Geralt  _ still _ faced makes his stomach churn…

Geralt frowns, “You’re distracted.”

Jaskier snaps out of his reverie with a slight shake of the head, “Aww, is somebody a little jealous that all of my attention wasn’t on them?” His boyfriend flushes, his full lips curling down into a pout. “Let me fix that, my love.”

“You better.” He huffs, sounding more like a sleep-deprived toddler than a…  _ very _ aroused eighteen-year-old boy.

Jaskier is feeling lazy, and is… more than a bit distracted by the planes of hot, firm muscles expanding and contracting beneath him, and thus decides that there is no time to fully undress. Instead, he sits back, allowing his full weight to settle on Geralt’s thick thighs, and snakes his cool hands up underneath Geralt’s t-shirt. The larger teen shudders at the contact, grumbling a bit underneath his breath (not unlike how he would if Jaskier would climb into bed with freezing cold feet, as if Geralt were his personal heater). But he does not shy away from the touch, instead allowing Jaskier to trace over his firm abdominal muscles as he pleases…

He leans down, capturing Geralt’s lips in a soft kiss. It’s a barely-there brush of lightly chapped lips, so soft that it can hardly be considered a kiss at all, but Jaskier can feel the way that it makes Geralt’s heart flutter beneath his fingers… and it makes him smile, bright as the sun. He rolls his hips again, the springs of the mattress creaking delightfully beneath the sudden increase in pressure, and his boyfriend  _ keens _ . He can feel the way the high-pitched moan rumbles up from his chest, can feel the way that warmth blossoms just beneath his skin as the first dregs of embarrassment sink in. How could  _ he _ have made a sound like  _ that _ ?

Jaskier wants to make him make it again. His phone sounds again in the distance, but when Geralt moves to comment on it, Jaskier captures his lips in a slightly more insistent kiss. He licks into his mouth, encouraging the other to part his lips to give Jaskier a taste－and fuck, okay, he  _ really _ needs to brush his teeth, but that didn’t matter because right then, Geralt rolled his hips up into Jaskier so hard he nearly bucks his boyfriend off of his waist. Jaskier squeaks, grabbing onto the larger teen’s shoulders in a moment of panic, and suddenly finds himself pinned to the bed underneath Geralt’s weight. And this… fuck, this is  _ good _ .

“Want to ride you.” He says, his velvety-smooth voice doing absolutely  _ sinful _ things to Jaskier’s cock. Geralt isn’t often in the mood to ride him－the position exposes him in a way that makes it impossible to hide all of the little reminders of why he hates Visenna. 

“Wha..?” Jaskier, ever the picture of eloquence, feels all of the blood in his head promptly rush south toward his dick. “I mean, yes－ _ yes _ . I am very much on board with that idea.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth quirks upward in the beginnings of a grin, “Thought you would be.” 

He shucks his pajama bottoms, perhaps taking a page out of Jaskier’s book and deciding that it will take too much effort for him to fully undress. He shifts his weight a bit to make sure that he is keeping Jaskier pinned down to the bed－not that Jaskier is trying to go anywhere anytime soon, not with an incredibly attractive and incredibly  _ aroused _ boyfriend using him like a goddamn  _ chair _ －before reaching over to the bedside table and grabbing the obscenely oversized bottle of lube. He cracks the lid, the plastic  _ pop _ resounding in the silence of the room, and drizzles a considerable amount on his fingers. 

“Are you－,” Jaskier watches, wide-eyed, as Geralt spreads his legs and reaches an arm behind himself to－ _ oh my god _ . “Holy shit, Ger-Bear…”

Geralt licks his lips, “Like what you see?” He leans forward, his hand sinking into the obnoxiously soft mattress just to the side of Jaskier’s neck. “C’mon… take it out and stroke it. I know that you want to.” He purrs. 

Jaskier’s eyes widen marginally, before he fumbles with the waistband of his sleep pants, dragging them down just far enough to free his cock. “Fuck, Ger… n-not that I’m complaining, but  _ shit _ … this is quite a transition from wanting to sleep just a little while ago.” 

“Would you like me to stop?” He asks, already certain that he knows the answer. 

“I definitely do not want you to stop.” Jaskier says, looking caught between wanting to grip Geralt’s hips to make sure that he didn’t stop and taking himself in hand and jacking off to the sight of Geralt preparing himself. 

“Good.” He breathes, the ‘d’ tittering off into a moan as he dips his pointer finger inside of himself and－oh  _ shit _ , Jaskier is clutching the base of his dick and breathing through his nose and thinking about what he’ll order at the diner when they head out for breakfast and－

Some of the pressure on Jaskier’s groan alleviates slightly as Geralt arches his back and lets his legs spread just a little bit wider. Geralt breathes in shakily, slowly working his way up to a second finger. Jaskier grabs the lube with trembling fingers, drenching his fingers and staining the pajama bottoms with the excess, sweetly scented fluid. Oh, thank fuck that didn’t happen back at home. He’d never be able to explain a stain like that to his mother－or why he’d suddenly decided to start doing his own laundry, to try and hide it. He takes himself in hand again, just barely resisting the urge to fuck his hand  _ hard _ . He doesn’t want this to end too early, but  _ damn _ －

He doesn’t even make it to a third finger. Geralt always prefers to be a little under-prepped anyway, at least when he’s the one prepping himself. Jaskier tends to be more patient, taking the time to watch Geralt fall apart on his fingers－on good nights (or mornings, afternoons, during drives in Jaskier’s Prius, in the school bathrooms… fuck, they fuck  _ a lot _ ) he can get Geralt to cum twice, or even three times (though by then, he’s usually cumming dry and crying from overstimulation) before they’re through. But he must be able to sense the urgency in Jaskier’s movements, because he withdraws his fingers with a wet  _ squelch _ and… and…

Jaskier’s eyes roll back into his head as his back arches up and off the bed, his entire body going tense as Geralt slowly lowers himself down onto the younger teen’s cock. He rocks back and forth a bit, sinking down until he’s sitting comfortably on Jaskier’s lap. Trembling hands clutch Geralt’s hips, digging into the tender flesh until he’s certain that there’ll be bruises in their wake. But that’s okay－Geralt has always liked it when Jaskier marked him, likes knowing that there’s someone out there that loves and cares about him, and wants the world to know exactly who he belongs to. He only wishes that Jaskier would allow him to do the same. 

“So,” he’ll never understand how Geralt can manage to sound so level-headed as he’s literally  _ bouncing _ on Jaskier’s cock. But the older teen has stamina for  _ days _ , and absolutely zero qualms when it comes to making Jaskier wait for his release. “Are you going to tell me what it is that Yenn wants that has you so upset?”

Jaskier’s eyes fly open as he chokes on a mouthful of air, “You－You!” He can’t even form proper words, can’t decide whether it’s worth the energy to be mad or if he’s too damn horny to care. “You’re leveraging sex to get the answers that you want, you asshole!”

Geralt purses his lips, “Weren’t you doing the same, just the other way around?” He cocks his head to the side, hair spilling over his shoulder. “I asked you a question, and you tried to distract me with a blowjob. That wasn’t nice.”

“Are you even hor－,” the rest of Jaskier’s sentence melts into a moan as Geralt twists his hips in just the right way to make his boyfriend see stars.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. You can clearly see, and feel, that I’m horny.”

Jaskier’s brows furrow, “Can we… not fight while we’re fucking? My brain is getting some really fucked up signals and it’s kind of confusing.”

“We’re not fighting.” Geralt contradicts him, because of course he does. “We just happen to be talking, loudly, with your dick buried in my ass.” Jaskier groans, unable to resist the urge to fuck up into Geralt’s fluttering hole. “Which wouldn’t be happening at all if you hadn’t felt the need to lie to me in the first place.”

“I didn’t lie to－,”

“A lie by omission is still a lie, Jaskier.” Geralt huffs, clenching down  _ hard _ on his boyfriend’s throbbing dick. “Now, tell me what Yennefer wanted.”

There’s a long, tense moment of silence, broken only by the rhythmic slap of flesh upon flesh. “...No.”

Geralt’s lips curl down into the beginnings of a frown, “No? Fine then. Have it your way.”

All of the air rushes from Jaskier’s lungs as Geralt picks up the pace and begins riding him as if his sole intent is to break the goddamn bed. And maybe it is. The charges would be a bit difficult to explain to his father, but Jaskier cannot deny that the idea is hot. Geralt’s hands snake down and forcibly pin his hips to the bed, making it clear that this is an exercise entirely for the white-haired teen’s pleasure. He’s pissed, there’s no mistaking it. And he has every right to be, considering the circumstances. For all of his talent with words, Jaskier has never been very good at lying. Especially not to Geralt. And Geralt  _ knows _ this. 

Jaskier cums first, which seems to irritate Geralt to no end. He climbs off of Jaskier’s still-spurting cock, grunting as he jerks himself to completion, making a point of angling it to splatter all over the sheets, where there will be absolutely no chance of Jaskier getting to enjoy it  _ at all _ . “‘m hungry,” is all he says, “be ready for breakfast in thirty.”

“...Right.”

* * *

Jaskier is absolutely  _ not _ that boyfriend that spends the entirety of a date on his phone, paying more attention to the latest updates on social media than his actual partner. Except, this morning, it seems like he is. While he’d made a point of turning his phone on vibrate, Yennefer was  _ still _ blowing up about her discovery that morning (and honestly, he couldn’t really blame her－that shit was mindboggling), and she only got worse the longer that he ignored her. He’d thought about flat-out turning his phone  _ off _ , but knew that Yenn would only take that as her cue to send in the search party and he really,  _ really _ didn’t need that right now. Neither of them did.

Geralt is stabbing at his breakfast like it personally wronged him－his ruined orgasm had him in an absolute  _ garbage _ mood, one that would probably only be getting worse as the day went on. And while Jaskier wishes that there were something that he could do to cheer the silver-haired teen up, he also acknowledges that he’s the reason that his boyfriend is feeling so awful. So he forces a smile and flags down the waitress for two more cups of coffee and goes back to looking at Visenna’s Facebook feed. From what he could gather, she and Geralt weren’t friends… but that seemed to be the beginning and the end of the good news 

Visenna is definitely pregnant. She also appears to have launched a full-scale smear campaign against her son, seeking comfort in the virtual arms of the other mothers in her little friend group after Geralt had ‘run away’ and started refusing her calls and texts. One of the old crones brought up those five minutes that Visenna had considered sending her son to military school－which was, for the record, the only time that Geralt had ever seriously considered running away. Ever. His boyfriend was utterly terrified of the thought of being abandoned by his mother, of being  _ cast aside _ . God, he hates this woman so much－

“Jaskier, I swear to fucking god, if you do not put that phone down right now I will crack your screen in two.” Jaskier locks his screen and slams the phone down onto the table a little harder than necessary. 

“Sorry, sorry. You know how Yenn can be.” He tries to laugh and stuff his face with a forkful of egg at the same time. The results are… interesting, to say the least. “So, uh… You ready to rejoin the world of state-funded education tomorrow? ‘Cause I have to say, I haven’t been missing calculus. Like, at all.”

Geralt studies him carefully, before shrugging, “Prom tickets go on sale next week, right?”

Here, Jaskier legitimately chokes, “Um… I think so? I… I thought that you weren’t..?”

“Interested?” A nod, “I changed my mind.” 

“But how are－,”

“I’ll use the money that Yenn is going to pay me to buy the ticket and rent a tux… whatever’s leftover can be my share of the limo.” Jaskier is staring at him as if he’s suddenly sprouted a second head, “I planned on using the money to buy something nice for you, anyhow. I just didn’t know what. Now I do.”

Jaskier frowns, “Yeah, and I distinctly remember that we had a conversation, too. Where I told you, in no uncertain terms, that you don’t have to do anything or buy anything for me. I’m plenty happy just to be with you, no matter what it is that we’re doing. You don’t need to force yourself to do this for me－,”

“It’s my gift to you. A perfect prom.” 

He’s tried to make it so very clear that he doesn’t  _ need _ , or even really  _ want _ , to go to prom. He sighs. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” He poses it as a question, though it really isn’t.

The look on Geralt’s face definitely makes him feel a certain way. “What could possibly make you think that?”

This weekend has been a disaster of epic proportions, and the thought makes him want to cry. He’d just wanted everything to be perfect, for them to be able to spend some time together as an actual, legitimate  _ couple _ . No-one knew them in New York (well, aside from Geralt’s friend Mousesack), so there was no reason to hide for fear of being discovered by his parents. In just a few hours, they would be forced back into hiding and he hates it. Hates that he’s so certain his father will disown him if he tries to come out. Hates that he needs his father’s approval so that he can get Geralt out of that shit house. 

What kills him the most is the knowledge that his mother wouldn’t care. She’s intimated to him several times that he’ll always be her son, no matter where his heart ultimately lies. He’s not worried about telling her. He’s worried about ending his parents’ marriage  _ because _ he told her. His parents weren’t necessarily…  _ happy _ . But, if given enough money, even a pessimist will tell you that a glass is half-full. His mother stayed with his father because it was a fiscally smart thing to do. It wasn’t like she, or any of the kids, were unaware about what went on on his little ‘business trips’ to Cali. The reality of the situation was much simpler: leaving would be bad, so they didn’t.

If Jaskier were to come out as pan, she definitely would. And he refuses to be the straw that breaks the camels back. “Well, I guess that we should set a date to go shopping, then. It would be horribly embarrassing if we were to clash.” He forces a small smile.

“Not that you ever really need an excuse to go spending Daddy’s money.” Geralt huffs, “If he  _ were _ to cut you off, you’d lose your mind within the week for want of cash.”

Jaskier’s left eye twitches, “Careful there, Ger-Bear. I know that you’re not in the best of moods, but remember that it’s Daddy’s money that’s paying for this  _ lovely _ meal.” He stabs another mouthful of eggs, the tines of the fork scraping against the plate far too loudly. 

Geralt twitches, reaches into his pocket, and slams the cursed fifty dollar bill down onto the table. The same bill that he’d been holding onto ever since Visenna ‘left’ earlier that week. “Actually, I think I’ll be covering this one.”

Jaskier promptly deflates with an over dramatic sigh, “Geralt, don’t be like that. You were supposed to be saving that for food.”

He motions to his plate, “This  _ is _ food, last time I checked.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” He huffs, “Look, I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t pay for the meal, okay? I was just trying to say that…” And now Geralt won’t even look at him. He sighs, “Look, I－I really just wanted to have a nice, relaxing weekend with you a-and now you’re  _ mad _ and being a-an asshole and－,”

Fuck, when did he start crying? He doesn’t know, but Geralt is staring at him with ever-increasing alarm and it’s just… making him  _ angry _ . He stands up so fast he almost sends his chair toppling backwards, ignores Geralt’s grumbling inquiry as to whether or not he’s okay, and storms off to the bathroom to cry. Because, you know what? He  _ knows _ that he deserved Geralt’s ire back in the hotel room. He never should’ve lied, and he never should’ve tried to weaponize sex in order to distract Geralt from the lie he’d told. If he’d been in Geralt’s shoes, he also would’ve felt some kind of way about it. 

But Geralt is also, very much, not okay. He doesn’t like to talk about his feelings, and that’s  _ fine _ －but he cannot continue acting like he doesn’t feel anything at all. Because he feels, very deeply. He suffers for everything that his mother’s ever done to him. And he hides it behind grunts and grimaces and scars whose stories he’ll never tell. And then all of a sudden, something will happen to make it all overflow, and he’ll get so upset he’ll get sick on the side of the road and decide to chop off all of his hair. And then he’ll just go right back to  _ not talking about it _ , to pretending like it doesn’t exist, like it doesn’t effect him, and－

There’s a knock on the door to his stall. At first, he thinks that it’s Geralt, and is fully prepared to tell him to fuck off. But a second later, a much more musical voice floats through the metal door, “Sorry, I… couldn’t help but overhear the, uh…  _ crying _ . I know it’s hard, but you might want to start breathing through your nose, or else you’ll hyperventilate.”

Jaskier frowns, but manages a weak, incredibly wet, sniffle. He blows his nose, before trying to breathe again, and again, until finally, “That’s… a-a lot better. Thank you.”

His strange new friend hands him an unopened pack of moist towelettes under the door, “Not a problem. Take these. I’m sure that you’ll want to fix your face.” As Jaskier begins to do just that, letting out the occasional hiccuping breath, the man continues, “I, um… Saw the fight you and your…  _ boyfriend _ had out there.”

Jaskier snorts, “I’m sure that everyone did. We weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Well… just know that you could do so much better, if you don’t mind my saying so. A pretty thing like you deserves the world－,” Jaskier swings the door to the stall open, his face a mask of incredulity.

“Are you… hitting on me, right now?”

The man is not attractive. He looks to be around Jaskier’s age, if not a few years older. His white-blond hair is on the longer side, and he’s currently wearing it pulled back behind his head in a low ponytail. His face is not conventionally handsome, but there is an undeniable charm to it, which is only accentuated by his big, bright blue eyes. He’s dressed conservatively, in a pair of light gray slacks and an oversized multicolored patchwork sweatshirt. Jaskier cannot deny that he’s attractive, but he’s in a committed relationship and he would  _ never _ want Geralt to feel as lost as he did when he saw those strange text messages on his phone. 

“I am, if you want me to be.” The man whispers, taking another step forward. “My name’s Filavandrel. What’s yours, darling?”

* * *

From: Amethyst Witch :smiling_imp:   
Did you two enjoy your little lover’s getaway? :red_heart: :red_heart:   
Seen on Sunday, 7:02AM

From: White Wolf :broken_heart: :smirk:   
No.   
Seen on Sunday, 7:05AM

From: White Wolf :broken_heart: :smirk:   
Listen, Yenn. I need to talk to you.   
Seen on Sunday, 7:05AM

From: Amethyst Witch :smiling_imp:   
Oh? About???   
Seen on Sunday, 7:07AM

From: White Wolf :broken_heart: :smirk:   
You know exactly what I’m talking about.   
Seen on Sunday, 7:10AM

From: Amethyst Witch :smiling_imp:   
If you’re upset about me talking to your boy-toy, I assure you that you have the wrong idea.   
Seen on Sunday, 7:11AM

From: Amethyst Witch :smiling_imp:   
Unless you think that I’m attempting to corrupt him, in which case you’d be absolutely right. :wink:   
Seen on Sunday, 7:12AM

From: White Wolf :broken_heart: :smirk:   
Dammit Yenn! This is fucking *important*, alright?   
Seen on Sunday, 7:15AM

[INCOMING CALL FROM YENNEFER]


	12. #CallMeMaybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING(s): Discussion of Attempted Murder (Karadin & Aiden), Violence, Brief Mention of Rape (NO ACTUAL RAPE OCCURS), etc. The tags have been updated accordingly. Please proceed with caution!
> 
> Sorry that this chapter is a little on the shorter side :( It's setting up for a biggun next time -- AKA the meeting with Eskel! Thanks for reading and please drop a comment if you liked <3

“...Are you  _ propositioning _ me right now?” Because he’s like, ninety-nine percent certain that that’s what’s happening right now. But it’s always better to know these things for certain.

He’d love to know where in the hell Geralt is right now. He knows that Geralt doesn’t usually come chasing after him when he leaves in a huff, but like… He’s also never been propositioned in the men’s room of a random restaurant in New York, either. Because no matter how pissed off Geralt is, he wouldn’t just stand by and let someone else put the moves on his boyfriend. 

Oh, who is he trying to kid? With the way that this weekend had gone, he’s probably chomping at the bit to be rid of him. Not that he  _ wants _ to cheat, mind you. He’s been cheated on before, he knows how shitty it feels. He’s also not so desperate that he’d get down and dirty in a fucking men’s restroom－he  _ does _ have standards, no matter what his ex might say. But he  _ will _ admit that it’s…  _ nice _ to have someone talk to him so gently after the shit morning that he’s had. And… it’s not so bad, being complimented by someone as pretty as this…  _ Filavandrel _ . Jesus, and he thought that his nickname was a mouthful. 

So… he decides that it can’t hurt to flirt, just a little bit. It’ll be a nice little boost to his utterly obliterated self-confidence, give him a chance to blow off a little steam so he doesn’t head back out there and bite Geralt’s head off. So he puts on a bright smile, shoves down the little voice in the back of his head that tells him that he looks a proper mess after sobbing his goddamned eyes out, and tells the pretty boy that his name is Julian. And Filavandrel makes some cheesy little quip about his name suiting him because his eyes are like jewels and Jaskier laughs so hard he snorts. Then he blushes, and laughs some more.

“Well, aren’t you just adorable?” Oh, but he is laying it on  _ thick _ . Jaskier isn’t quite sure if he wants more or less.

“And  _ you _ , good sir, never answered my question.” He says. Filavandrel doesn’t seem to be too terribly bothered by this. If anything, he seems to be studiously avoiding committing to an answer, one way or another. 

“And what if I was?” He asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. He doesn’t try to close the distance between himself and Jaskier－and there’s more than enough room for Jaskier to run, should he choose. Jaskier’s breath stutters in his throat. “You don’t seem too anxious to push me away, darling.”

Jaskier studies him for a moment, before cocking his head to the side, “I don’t do random hookups in bathroom stalls.” There’s a brief pause, before he cringes, “At least, not anymore. The only person that’s fucking me in the men’s room is my boyfriend－,”

Filavandrel cocks an eyebrow, “What about your hotel room?”

“...You’re bold.”

“And  _ that _ … is definitely not a ‘no’.” No, he supposes that it wasn’t. A part of him kind of wishes that this Filavandrel hadn’t been so quick to pick up on that. Another part of him－the part that is still aching for how Geralt treated him earlier－wants Filavandrel to push just a little bit harder. 

“I suppose that it isn’t.”

Filavandrel takes out a pen and a piece of paper, and uses them to quickly scribble something down. Jaskier’s eyes widen a bit when Filavandrel reaches forward and tucks the slip of paper into the back pocket of his jeans. “...for when we’re not huddled together in a restaurant bathroom stall.” He says.

And then he’s gone. Now that he’s alone, he has a chance to really think about what’d just happened－what he’d almost done. The piece of paper in his back pocket feels every bit as heavy as a brick, and he knows that he should rid himself of it before he rejoins Geralt in the dining room, but… Despite the fact that Filavandrel had been laying it on a bit heavy, the fact remains that he’d made Jaskier feel better. He’d seen that Jaskier was upset and had taken the time to talk to him, had even gone so far as to  _ compliment  _ him (when he  _ knows _ that he looks like shit－you cannot tell him otherwise when he can literally  _ feel _ the snot running down his face), and…

And where is Geralt? He’s likely still sitting out in the dining room, waiting for Jaskier to calm down enough to come back out and join him. He’ll look like a goddamned kicked puppy, who’d been kicked to the curb in the middle of a torrential downpour, and Jaskier would crack. He  _ would _ . Because it was difficult to remember, sometimes, that Geralt felt things just as deeply as Jaskier－if not more so. And he can never stay angry at him for very long. He can be hurt beyond belief, absolutely, and he’ll likely stay that way until Geralt gives him a genuine apology, but it’s hard to stay mad at him when it seems like the whole goddamned world is trying to fuck him over.

He should throw out Filavandrel’s number. 

He should march out there and be honest with Geralt about what just happened, assure him that nothing  _ had _ happened and that nothing  _ would _ happen, and insist that they move on. 

He does neither of those things. 

When he returns to the table, he catches the tailend of a conversation between Geralt and Yennefer. Whatever they’re talking about sounds important, but there aren’t enough context clues for him to decipher exactly  _ what’s going on _ . So he flags down the waiter to order more coffee and waits. “...I’ll talk to you later, Yenn.”

As he tucks his phone away, Jaskier comes out with, “So, I was thinking about that project Stregobor assigned for comparative politics.” The one that he knows, for a fact, Geralt hasn’t started yet. “I know that Triss really has her heart set on making our country an oligarchy, but－,”

Geralt studies him for a moment, his features strangely closed off. “You took an awful long time in the bathroom.”

Jaskier swallows hard, “Yes, well. I had to fix my mascara. Silly me, deciding that today would be the day to  _ not _ wear the waterproof shit.” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like he’s choking. He silently prays that Geralt doesn’t notice that he’s not actually wearing mascara anymore.

More silence. Then, “Yenn cheated on Istredd.”

Jaskier actually chokes this time, “I, uh… I wasn’t aware that she and Istredd were back together? I thought that it was just one of those ‘I’m too pretty to go to my senior prom alone’ type situations.” A pause, then, “Besides, wasn’t the whole reason they broke up in the first place because she cheated on him with  _ you _ ?”

“Yeah, I－Yeah.” The waiter comes by to top off their coffees. “I don’t… I don’t really know if her thing with Istredd is serious or not. But apparently she met a cute prospective student at her interview and… well, one thing led to another, and now she has to charge the cost of cleaning the guy’s rental to her dad’s credit card.”

“Oof, that’s… awkward.” There’s really no other word for it. He’s thankful that his dad doesn’t really  _ check _ the bill before paying it off every month, but he knows from experience that Yennefer’s step-dad is definitely not that lax.

Geralt is staring at him again. “Are you okay, Jaskier? You look… nervous.”

“Me? Nervous? Of course not.” Ah yes, because that is a perfectly normal reaction that somebody who is decidedly  _ not _ nervous would give. Right. “Though, I suppose I might be just a little on edge, considering that  _ somebody _ hasn’t bothered apologizing to me yet.” 

“You are the exact opposite of subtle.” Geralt says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t even have anything to be apologizing for. I did something  _ nice _ .”

“Right.”

They spend the remainder of breakfast talking about their project, as it seemed to be the only thing they were capable of discussing that didn’t have them clawing at each other’s throats. But still… even in the depths of a heated discussion on the merits of a republic, Jaskier couldn’t help but notice the exact moment when Filavandrel and his party went up to the front counter to pay for their meal and leave. 

There were two people with him. The first was a tall, thin red-headed girl (she had a poorly done box job－he could see her inky black roots from clear across the restaurant) in an oversized NYU t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, which sat high atop the crown of her head, and she wore so much jewelery it was almost blinding. Absently, he wondered if she was Filavandrel’s girlfriend. His second companion was an even taller man with incredibly pronounced features and a seemingly endless supply of body hair. He was in a Temple University sweatshirt and a pair of low-riding black joggers－

“What’re you looking at?” Geralt turns to look at the rather eclectic trio, before shrugging, “Oh. Yeah, I saw them, too. The girl shoved an entire table’s worth of silverware into her jeans. It was kind of impressive.”

And Jaskier… is admittedly unsure about what exactly he’s supposed to do with that information. “Did you…  _ tell _ someone?” Because that’s the logical thing to do when you see a random girl shoving silverware into her pants, right? 

Geralt frowns, “Not my silverware, not my problem. It’s not like she was trying to stab someone’s eye out with the tine on a fork or anything like that. I kinda get the feeling they need it more than the restaurant does.” Geralt says, inclining his head toward the counter, where Filavandrel is paying for their meal in quarters.

“Oh.” Jaskier catches himself staring, and hurriedly looks away.

“Hmm,” and that’s that.

* * *

Jaskier wishes that the weekend had gone better－that he wasn’t already sitting in the driver’s seat, white-knuckling the steering wheel, as Yennefer recounts her sexual escapades with the handsome prospective student in  _ great _ detail. He tries his damndest to be a good friend. And he’s had his fair share of ladies in-between the sheets. But he  _ has _ never been interested in Yennefer in that way, and he never  _ will _ be interested in Yennefer that way, and so the mental images that his brain is so helpfully conjuring to help illustrate her incredibly  _ graphic _ story are really only serving to make him want to hurl. 

He’s happy for her. He really,  _ really _ is. But he wishes that she’d talk about something more important, like whatever the hell it was that she and Geralt had been discussing back at the restaurant. Geralt is knocked out cold in the back, he doesn’t need to know! Unfortunately for him, Yennefer is the type to take secrets very seriously－he knew that she would never be the one to divulge the information they’d found out about Visenna that morning, and she would also never be the one to tell him what she and Geralt had discussed while he was getting propositioned in the bathroom. Speaking of which…

Out of all of their friends, she was definitely the one to talk to about what had happened with Filavandrel. If only because he knew that she would never tell Geralt. But he would have to wait for the opportune moment to bring it up. Sure, Geralt was fast asleep  _ now _ , but with the way his luck was going, the minute he started talking about it  _ something _ would happen to cause Geralt to hear everything and misunderstand and get all heartbroken and－

Nothing had happened. Nothing. And nothing  _ would _ happen. 

He just… needs an impartial sounding board to help him sort out exactly how much  _ nothing _ had happened.

“So, how was your weekend?” Yennefer asks. From her tone, it is clear that she’s expecting to hear nothing but the best, but there’s something about the look on her face that says otherwise. “I see Geralt cut his hair.”

“Actually, I－We both cut it. I know that you said that I shouldn’t let him do it, but… He came to me, and he explained how he felt and what he wanted to do, and he handed control of the situation over to me. I did what I thought was best.” He laughs wryly, “Honestly, the haircut may’ve been the only thing that went right this weekend.”

Yennefer’s face falls, “It went that badly, huh?”

“Did you know that Lambert is in prison?”

There’s a long pause, before she nods, “Yeah, I… Tissaia works in the hospital. She was on-call the night that Aiden was brought in, and… she knows that we’re friendly, so she wanted to give me a heads up.” Yennefer runs a finger along the length of her seatbelt, “The situation is bad, Jas.”

Jaskier  _ really _ didn’t like the sound of that. He’d expected as much, when he’d talked to Geralt after he’d gotten off of the phone with Eskel… but it seems like Eskel didn’t have all the facts. “How bad are we talking?”

“Like, they’re opening up an investigation for attempted murder bad.” Yennefer whispers.

“They think Karadin tried to kill his little brother?” Jaskier knows that the older boy had a tendency to be violent－he’d beaten Aiden bloody numerous times－but to actually try to  _ kill _ him…

Yennefer swallows hard, “After… After Lambert found out that Aiden had been hospitalized, he cornered Karadin and he…  _ confessed _ to some really shitty things. Lambert dislocated his jaw. He probably would’ve done a lot worse, if somebody hadn’t reported a domestic disturbance. Karadin said he wanted to press charges, said Lambert attacked him out of nowhere－,”

“...how bad is Aiden?” He’s not really sure that he actually wants to know, but he knows that he needs to be prepared, whatever the case may be.

The raven-haired teen eyes him up for a moment, before sighing. “His condition is… stable, but not good. Karadin crashed their car into a tree. The airbags on the passenger side of the car were faulty, and Aiden wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. He cracked his ribs on the dashboard, and one of them impaled his right lung. He’s on a ventilator because he cannot breathe on his own. He has a severe concussion, and his left leg is broken－,”

“Okay!” Jaskier cuts her off, swift and firm. He feels woozy, and he contemplates pulling over. “...Okay.”

“You asked.”

“I know I did. I know.” 

He quickly discovers that the drive home is so much  _ worse _ than the drive to New York. The drive to New York had been filled with so much promise－he honestly couldn’t remember the last time that he’d been so excited to be heading out of state. Now, he has no idea as to where he stands with his boyfriend. He’d thought that he’d been making some sort of progress in getting Geralt to communicate with him, even if it was something as simple as telling him that he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Telling him that it was okay to touch, and where. But in the end… Geralt is still trapped inside of his own head, and he doesn’t know how to break him out.

And instead of being there for his boyfriend in his time of need, to provide a much-needed shoulder to lean on… he was in the bathroom, hitting it off with an NYU student that he would likely never see again. Because if they  _ did _ see each other again, it would be for a casual hookup and… he couldn’t do that to Geralt. Aside from the fact that he worried his boyfriend was one major derailment away from a nervous breakdown, he knew that Geralt would never do something like that to him. Geralt knew his track record with relationships, knew his struggles with commitment, and he  _ still _ trusted him with his heart－along with so many of his firsts. He couldn’t－

“Jaskier?” Yennefer’s voice is tinged with concern as the car starts to drift a little to the side. She turns to find Jaskier’s entire face covered in tears, “Jas? What’s going on? Did the whole Aiden thing really upset you that badly?” She asks, a little skeptical.

“I… I did something  _ really _ bad this weekend, Yenn.” He sobs. The car starts to drift further.

“Jesus Christ, Jaskier! If you’re gonna have a meltdown, fine, but try not to fucking kill us all while you’re at it!” She wrestles the steering wheel from his iron-clad grip until she’s able to safely maneuver the car to the emergency pull-off. “Now－define ‘really bad’. Do I need to help you hide a body?”

“What?” Jaskier snaps, eyes wide. “No, Yenn. I didn’t fucking kill anyone.” He sniffles, eyes skirting to the backseat, where Geralt continues to slumber peacefully, completely unaware of their near accident. 

“Did you rape someone?” Yennefer continues. She reaches into the console and grabs a travel-sized packet of tissues, stuffing them into Jaskier’s chest so that he can clean up his face.

“No! I said I did something bad, not that I committed a felony! Jesus.” He starts to clean up his face, grimacing a bit at the excess production of snot.

“ _Really bad_ could mean a lot of things, Jas. I’m just making sure that I cover all of my bases－,” she falls silent when Jaskier chances one last look back at Geralt, before reaching into his back pocket and producing a small slip of paper with a slightly blurry phone number on it. A phone number that is decidedly not Geralt’s. “...You’re a fucking idiot, aren’t you?”


End file.
